


Fractured Heart

by Blue_Sparkle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angels are incapable of dealing with emotional trauma, Angst, Assumed Character Death, Aziraphale knows he lost a loved one but can't remember them, Crowley and Aziraphale were lovers before the Fall, Grief/Mourning, Heaven, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Past Character Death, Pining, Some Descriptions of Violence, pre!fall, the angel's gold and silver marks are injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle
Summary: Angels are sturdy beings, but rigid and changeless and not meant to endure grief or loss. When thousands Fall and many more are slain in the Great Rebellion, they either literally break apart...or forget.Aziraphale's only memories of his lost beloved are his lover's skill at creating stars. Memories he cherishes above all else. It complicates matters when his heart starts attaching to a certain demon, but perhaps his time on earth can teach him how to heal.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my "Aziraphale and Crowley were lovers before the Fall" fic. I couldn't let go of the thought that the marks Uriel and Michael have on their faces are injuries, and that Aziraphale has some hidden away as well. So here we go, I hope you enjoy!

The silence was absolute, pressing down with the force of the deepest oceans, already invented but not yet filled with anything that might feel the current. Silence had never reigned in these realms, filled with song and music and the ever present chime of bell like voices and wings stretched out in light, laughter and hymns.

Vaguely Aziraphale was aware of sounds and words, knew that there were voices, saw mouths opening in wails of pain and grief. There was nothing that reached his ears though, and if deafness had been invented yet he would have wondered if that was what had befallen him.

Angels did not need to breathe and had not yet gotten the time to copy the habit from humans, so Aziraphale didn’t. If it had occurred to him to let his body behave like a human, he would be panting and desperately try to reign in his gasps. As it was he only looked around with numb curiosity, aware of broken wings and bodies around him, and the sharp scent of brimstone and burning feathers surrounding him.

He tried to stand, but his leg informed him that he would surely be in terrible pain if he jostled his celestial body too much. He looked down at his horribly mangled right leg, light pouring out of the cracks in it. Aziraphale could not remember who had wounded him like this, just as he couldn’t remember the countless rebels he must have slain. Oh, he did know that he did, he remembered his hands moving in brutal efficiency and a flaming sword cutting through them. But he couldn’t remember who.

Aziraphale knew that his body would be in excruciating pain from his injuries and the exhaustion of the battle. Linear time had not been invented yet, so it was quite reasonable to assume that the fights had lasted for a century or more. There was something coiling in his chest though, an indescribable agony that corresponded to none of his wounds.

Distantly Aziraphale thought to call out, for whom, he wasn’t sure. A name rested on his tongue, caught in his throat, but the memory of it had burned clean away. He only knew that above all else, he desperately needed to know that the angel whose name it was, was safe. Had escaped the fights, had not gotten into the clutches of one of the Fallen – demons, that’s what they were called now, he had been told. His love was an artist, architect of light and beauty. Not a soldier at all. Oh, he would have gotten hurt terribly if he had gotten into the fight!

The Heavens were no specific place at all, but when Aziraphale looked up all the stars of creation stretched across the sky above him. He sighed, licking golden ichor off his lips, and frowned. He had always been a soldier, not in any way helping Her create. It was his duty to guard and keep this creation safe. From what, he hadn’t known then, but was all too painfully aware of now.

When Aziraphale closed his eyes he couldn’t recall the face he loved most above all. But he remembered a hand reaching out to him, elegant and well suited to guiding light and energy into those fiery orbs that now illuminated the universe. Instead of angelic skin and flesh and bone, Aziraphale could only remember limbs woven from starlight and cascading hair like solar flares, just as hot and bright against the darkness of space.

He remembered his elation and wonder that such a beautiful creature would cast its eyes on him, and his joy when fingers stained by stardust laced with his, how blessed he had felt when his beloved whispered of his devotion. Aziraphale had never thought of walking through the milky way to examine the creations, but his beloved had worked so hard on them and pulled him along to show him. Such a skilled crafter, and yet Aziraphale heard the echo of joy in his head. His starmaker had been more eager for his approval of his creations than even Her’s.

Aziraphale gasped quietly, and pressed his hand to his chest. His celestial body had no heart, but somehow he felt that this was where the pain came from.

Someone moved near him, and Aziraphale looked up to see Gabriel trudge by him, his wings all drooping and dragging over the battlefield, stained gold and black with the ichor of countless creatures. His hair had gone grey, or so Aziraphale thought. He had never interacted with the Archangel much, and couldn’t remember right now. His eyes looked as if they had lost their lustre, and a broken trumpet hung in his hand.

“Holiest Archangel,” Aziraphale called out, making a brief attempt to move, before reconsidering when his leg ached.

Gabriel paused for a few moments, before turning to the Principality. He smiled and it looked wrong. Fake smiles were invented that day, but everyone was too tired to mind at the moment.

“I see you fought well against those-” Gabriel made a vague gesture down, where Satan and his followers had pummelled to the ground.

“How many were lost?” Aziraphale asked.

The fake smile was still there, but unspeakable pain flashed over eyes that had gone grey as well. Aziraphale was sure they had been something like violet, before.

“More than half of those who had ever existed,” Gabriel said. “Even counting those traitors.”

Aziraphale shivered, aware of the horror clawing at the layer of shocked numbness that kept his emotions at bay for now. He couldn’t even fathom such loss. He had somehow known each and every angel, even if he had never spoken to them.

Behind Gabriel two more Archangels approached, Uriel and Michael, both still drenched in ichor. Tearing his eyes from them Aziraphale looked around, noting with surprise that there were broken bodies near him. Gold and black, lying near him like shattered porcelain. For the life of him he couldn’t recognize the faces of the slain around him.

The thought unsettled Aziraphale, and once again he tried to recall the name and face of his most beloved.

Again, all he could come up with was unspeakable loss. If he focused hard he could recall loving eyes, looking at him as if he was more beautiful than the stars contained within them. Wings, strong and just a tiny bit wider than Aziraphale’s own as they raced through the stars together. They were crimson and shone like garnets and rubies, speckled with gold and magnificent compared to Aziraphale’s own snow white ones. Much more lovely to behold. Why could he remember the wings but not the face?

“Forgive me for asking,” Aziraphale said, seeing no reason to be less than polite even given the circumstances and the battlefield around them. “But can I ask for the whereabouts of an angel in particular?”

Uriel’s eyes turned to him, exhausted and pained, Michael ignored him, and Gabriel’s smile remained unmoved. Briefly Aziraphale wondered if it hurt to smile like that, and if Gabriel even knew how to stop.

“You are a hero among us!” Gabriel said, “You can ask anything you like.”

“Where is- that is. I don’t know where-“ Aziraphale tried hard as he might to get the name out, but it was like trying to catch air in his hands. “My beloved. I can’t- Where is he?”

At this the smile dropped, and Uriel let out a pained keen. To his horror Aziraphale saw her skin crack around her face, a spider web of damage spreading over her body leaving light and ichor to pour out in ways that celestial bodies shouldn’t do. Michael took hold of her, wings wrapped around her body. Uriel gasped once, twice, before a numbness set over her and she sagged back, the cracks closing again, though the damage remained in a pattern of gold on her skin.

“We weren’t built for loss,” Uriel whispered, voice even but rough. “To process grief. It does this to us.”

She raised her hand, and Aziraphale saw the same damage on her hand as on her face. Michael carried something similar.

“My love… they… cut down right before my eyes. I can’t. We were not meant to sustain damage like this and heal from it. Our bodies can’t change like that.”

Gabriel gave her a sad look, and turned back to Aziraphale.

“The Almighty gifted us with blissful unawareness,” he said, not even trying to sound happy about it. “Those lost and those Fallen don’t exist in our memories anymore. I don’t think any one of us would survive if they did.”

“Cut down?” Aziraphale whispered and stared at Uriel in horror. The emotions were slowly trickling through the barrier of his shock. He glanced down at the dead around him, and stiffened.

Those Fallen and those slain were forgotten?

His beloved must have fallen victim to the traitors then. What other option was there? He was so far away from those demons, had never had a single rebellious thought in his heart. Of course he would have been slain then, just as Uriel’s love…

An anguished wail rose up, and only when Gabriel flapped his wings in alarm did Aziraphale realize that it was his own voice crying out. His hands flew to his mouth and shimmering tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision for the first time in his life. At the same time something ripped in his chest and with renewed horror Aziraphale watched his emotional pain create corresponding damage to his body. His tunic dampened with the ichor that oozed from the cracks spreading across his chest, his angelic light spilling out of the broken skin and threatening to split him wide open, to shatter-

“Calm yourself,” Michael snapped, making Aziraphale startle and right himself to attention, as much as he could. “Lingering on it will break you. Remain in control of yourself as Her gift of reprieve settles.”

Aziraphale nodded, eyes lingering on her own damage. He couldn’t remember who she had lost, though surely he must have known once. The pain of losing those he had known, chief of them his beloved, was more than he could handle. The waves of compassionate grief for Michael were too much on top of it all.

“You will feel better soon,” Gabriel promised, looking forlorn now, a hint of real emotion. “I already can’t be sure who my- who the lost one was to me.”

Aziraphale nodded and permitted the Archangels to raise him to his feet. Now that he was standing his ruined leg could be ignored for a while. He dutifully hobbled along with them, trying very hard not to think of a slender arm wrapping around his waist, or how he remembered fingers and the sweetest kisses on his skin.

How could his mind conjure up these images so clearly unbidden, when trying his hardest did nothing to make him recall his love’s face? How could he so clearly imagine lying against his body, and recall sweet words soothing his pain as gentle hands wiped the ichor from his face as he rested, but not the actual sound of a voice, or more than the taste of his skin and the feel of his feathers?

Surely it was more cruel to let him keep those memories and have him forget all else.

Then it occurred to Aziraphale that he was permitted to retain the love, but that the pain of it was dulled. Better than forgetting completely, surely.

Silent tears ran over his cheeks but if this was not becoming for a soldier of the Heavenly Host, none of the Archangels said a word. 

*

Aziraphale rested against the warmth of his lover’s side, his cheek pillowed on crimson and golden feathers. The ground they lay on was clouds and wisps of a galaxy his love had worked on earlier, as comfortable as anything, and yet the wing had been offered freely, to keep Aziraphale off of it. 

His fingers were tangled in hair the colour of burning stars, and an arm was wrapped around his body, keeping him close as if he had any wish to stray from his love’s side at all. The memory was crisp and full of love, but try as he might the features before him blurred into light. Only eyes, black and star spangled like the galaxies around them, were in focus. Such beautiful eyes surely were too precious to be purged from his mind. 

They were completely alone here, far far away from any other angel. Of course the Almighty knew they were there, as She knew everything, and nothing escaped her gaze. But they were so far from her throne that Aziraphale still felt a sense of privacy, a concept that was still being worked on. 

“How lucky am I that you chose to love me,” he whispered against the crook of his lover’s neck. “You create such beauty with Her light, and I’m a mere soldier. Nothing special compared to all of this.”

His love laughed, and Aziraphale knew what sounds he made, even if he couldn’t remember what they actually _sounded_ like. 

“What? You’re the best among all angels I know. And you are _my_ angel, which makes you the most special in my eyes.”

Aziraphale laughed and his lips were caught in a sweet kiss. He could remember the taste of it, but not how soft the curve of his love’s mouth must look. 

“I do feel a little foolish at times,” he confessed. “Guarding, but with nothing there to guard yet. It’s not quite ready, I heard. Whatever it is that the humans will live in on Earth.”

He saw the dried and crumbling stardust paint on his love’s fingers, but could not make out his hand as it rose up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“I wonder,” his love began, the wing not occupied by Aziraphale flexing briefly, catching the light of twin stars above their heads. “Why _do_ we need soldiers and guards anyway? I get that there’s stuff to protect. But protect it from _what_? There’s nothing… there.”

Evil had not been invented yet, and neither angel had a word for this.

“Surely the Almighty has a plan for this,” Aziraphale said primly. He wondered this too, sometimes when he watched the other angels do things around him. It was never something he voiced out loud though. “It’s all in Her plan.”

“The ineffable plan,” his love laughed. His free wing covered them both, wrapping Aziraphale in a cocoon of red and gold, much to his delight. “Can’t wait to see where that goes.”

They lay quietly for a while, basking in the light of the stars and occasionally each other’s kisses. Eternity might have passed, until Aziraphale pulled at his love’s hands and helped him up. 

“We should return to the others,” he said. “There’ll be songs and announcements soon, I’m sure of it.”

“And bland food,” his love sighed with a grin. He was so focused on his work in the stars, he often sighed and grumbled over the choirs. 

“Between you and me, I am looking forward to what the humans will have for food,” Aziraphale confessed. “Growing something to prepare and eat it for energy? That just sounds delightful.”

Together they stretched their wings and flew off, hands still linked together. It had been before the trouble had started to rear its head, and there was nothing to tell Aziraphale that this wouldn’t just go on for the rest of existence.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thunderstorm had lightened somewhat but the rain itself was still falling heavily. After determining that Adam and Eve had found a sufficiently secure shelter, Aziraphale had decided to return to the garden for the time being, finding shelter for himself under the luscious trees.

Of course, after offering his wings to the demon Crawley to shield him from the rain, it would have been rude to suddenly withdraw that protection for no good reason, so Aziraphale had somehow ended up inviting him along. The serpent had looked at him for a few moments, before joining him with a shrug.

They didn’t talk much, Aziraphale too worried about his decision regarding a flaming sword, and Crawley idly toying with the hem of his robe and examining the plants around them. At one point he tore a fruit from the tree to try it, but decided that he wasn’t into the whole eating things concept. He’d then offered it to Aziraphale, and seeing that it was just a harmless pear and not anything the Almighty had explicitly forbidden, he’d eaten it quickly.

The taste was sweet and just a little bit tart, and Aziraphale found it both enjoyable and weirdly soothing for his anxiety. Crawley had proceeded to pick several more fruit from the tree for him, the disturbance of the branches dripping down water onto his fiery hair each time.

Afterwards they kept sitting in silence, the demon close to him, arms not quite touching. Their earthly bodies were warm, and even at the distance Aziraphale could feel his presence physically. It was strange, but not entirely unwelcome. He licked his lips, tasting the sweetness of the fruit on them, and remembered how he had only tasted sweetness once before coming to Earth.

The presence of somebody so close, where Aziraphale only wished for one being, and the memory of beloved lips ached more than the anxiety had.

There were fault lines on his chest, hidden away by his clothes. Nearly every single angel had somebody they had lost, and they wore the damage of it on their faces, in their eyes and hands. There was a quiet acceptance that had settled in, and for a while Aziraphale hadn’t felt pain at all. Only the cracks of gold over his ribcage reminded him of the loss he’d suffered. But now, after watching Eve hold Adam in his sleep so they were close even then, and after seeing Adam protect Eve without even knowing what he was doing, the grief had returned. The presence of love on Earth broke down the protective barriers over Aziraphale’s heart. Love of friendship, and romance, and passion, they poured from the only two humans in existence, and after Heaven’s tranquility it was enough to shake the angel. Perhaps he ought to mention this, request assistance if he was meant to be stationed on Earth for the foreseeable future. It did not bear thinking about how great the damage would be if Aziraphale were to lose the gift of forgetting.

“Say, Crawly” he said hesitantly, trying his best to take his mind of the brief memory of the full brunt of the pain he’d felt for a few heartbeats. “Do you remember Heaven at all?”

Crawley frowned and shook his black wings. They were pretty, in their own way, well maintained and iridescent as some of the clever birds the angel had observed.

“What, you want me to recall my most traumatic experience as I sauntered down after all the others?”

“Oh no! Not at all,” Aziraphale stammered. “I did not mean to bring up painful memories.”

Not somebody else’s, at the very least.

Crawley stared at him for a few seconds, his yellow eyes unblinking, until he laughed and swayed as if he was about to bump their shoulder together, though he stopped before they could touch.

“I’m kidding. Wasn’t _that_ bad I guess. I do remember some of it. Bits and pieces. How dull it was. How there was barely anyone I liked being around. Guess that’s how I ended up mingling with the wrong crowd, right? I can’t even remember what my name was back then, or anyone else. Kind of curious about it though. Not sure if I want to know.”

Aziraphale nodded, though he couldn’t really describe the Heavens as dull. There was no frame of reference for the concept of “dull” yet.

“What did you Fall for?”

“Asking questions, I guess. Didn’t really mean to _Fall_, strictly speaking.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a painful beat as he thought about how Crawley could have been one of those who fought. Who killed. One of the now Fallen had surely killed his beloved, and he could not bear the thought of it. Though he was a demon, Crawley was civil and a decent conversation partner, all things considered. He’d even reassured Aziraphale after his dreadful mistakes!

“Did you fight?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

“Do I _look_ like I’d fight?” Crawley scoffed and gestured at himself. “Na, I just sort of tried to stay out of it. I hid and hoped nobody would think about dragging me into the mess. Guess it was too late though, I Fell when the others did.”

Aziraphale reminded himself not to breathe a sigh of relief, and very nearly forgot to pick the human habit back up after that. At least Crawley hadn’t been directly responsible for his grief then.

“So do you remember anyone in particular?” he asked, hoping to get to something more light hearted again.

Crawley shrugged.

“I only remember the Fallen clearly. But there were some. It’s all a bit blurry. A plummet down to the ground and into the depth of Hell will do that to you. Takes a while to sort out what’s real and what’s just sort of my imagination. I think… I think I might have known you. You look so familiar.”

He wiggled his fingers before his head, indicating a mess, and Aziraphale noted how pretty his hands were. There really wasn’t anything off putting about him, he thought, though it would be a little difficult for a demon of temptation to do his job if he repulsed those around him. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said slowly. “I’m sure if we did, I couldn’t have had very charitable thoughts about you. Given what happened.”

The corners of Crawley’s mouth twitched down as he pouted slightly, turning away, and Aziraphale felt shame for being needlessly rude. Yes, his conversation partner was a demon, but that was no call for hurtful words. 

“Do you think about the Fallen?” Crawley asked after a while. “Up there I mean. Is there a giant wall of pictures you throw darts at?”

Aziraphale didn’t ask what darts were, but shook his head.

“Not at all. Other than your boss, we don’t even speak your names. Can’t, as a matter of fact,” he said, tilting his head up haughtily. “The names of the traitors and who they had been were burned away from the collective memory of Heaven. You are not worth being remembered, your names are not worth being spoken.”

He then noticed Crawley’s annoyed look, and immediately deflated.

“Ah. That is to say. No we don’t. I’m sure there’s lots of lovely people down there, though.”

“There aren’t,” Crawley drawled. “Trust me, I’m glad I don’t need to hang around there much anymore.”

Aziraphale huffed, his cheeks feeling strangely hot.

“Anyway. We lost more than two thirds of all angels that have ever existed. None of their names are remembered for the loss is too great to contemplate. Less than half of those Fell. Most just simply died.”

His voice cracked, and Aziraphale quickly pushed the thought of his beloved aside. The compassion he had felt for the brief period of time when the other angels had mourned was enough already.

“Loss?” Crawley asked.

“Yes. Surely your lot has lost people dear to them. Ah. But I suppose demons don’t love.”

Crawley’s eyes closed and his palm flew to his chest, pressed flat against it as he took a ragged breath. He looked to be in agony for a few moments, and Aziraphale nearly reached for him in concern.

“I remember,” Crawley said, his eyes opening again and staring at Aziraphale’s with such pitiful agony that Aziraphale shuddered from it. “Yes. Some of us… _I_ loved. I think quite a few tried to get our partners to Fall so there wouldn’t be this stupid divide.”

“How awful!” Aziraphale cried out. He didn’t know which of the angels with grief etched in their faces had lost somebody to the Fall. Would they have gone willingly, had they gotten a taste of the mourning to come? Perhaps it was good that the Almighty had made both the dead and the Fallen a mere shadow of memory. Aziraphale might have contemplated Falling for reprieve, in the brief moments that he’d felt the pain.

Crawley shied back a little, fists clenching and unclenching as he spoke next.

“You lost someone, too! Don’t you remember them?”

“Angels can’t heal from grief,” Aziraphale explained. “We quite literally would have broken and surely perished from the wounds if the Almighty had not intervened with our memories.”

At this Crawley looked quite angry for some reason.

“She jussssst went and erassssed your memoriessss of love?” he hissed.

“Not of love,” Aziraphale denied, thinking of the starlight hand cradling his cheek and the smile he couldn’t remember the look of. “Only the parts that make grief quite deadly.”

“Sssssure,” Crawley hissed again. “You’re beingssss of love. Can’t have you forget what you’re made of.”

They looked at one another for a few moments, until Crawley leaned forwards, urgency in his eyes now.

“But would you want to remember? I can help you with that, if you let me. Wouldn’t you want to know who you lost?”

“Do you want me to _die_?” Aziraphale cried out. The idea of the serpent wanting to cause him pain for no reason at all upset him more than he thought it would. This was a demon, what did he expect. “I will break of it, if I try too hard to remember.”

“But the name of your beloved,” Crawley urged. “Don’t you want to know that at least?”

Aziraphale’s wings flared up in anger. It occurred to him then that a demon had taken what he held dear above all else. A demon, that might very well be Crawley, if he was lying, or a friend of his.

“All names were burned away,” he repeated. “Their memory is gone from us and we shall never reclaim it, nor should we strive for it! I do not _want_ to know the names of the Fallen and the lost.”

Crawley once again shifted back, this time as far as he could without leaving the tree’s shelter. His wings were raised defensively.

“Alright, you don’t want to know anything about us Fallen, I get it,” he said, raising his hands soothingly. He sounded quite hurt, and Aziraphale immediately lowered his wings again. It wouldn’t do to upset his new acquaintance.

Aziraphale tucked his wings against his back and wrung his hands in worry.

“Forgive me, dear boy,” he said, shifting a little away from Crawley to give him space. “I did not mean to offend. It’s just… a very painful topic for me. Even if I could, I don’t think I could bear the knowledge of-”

He sighed and rubbed at his chest. He could not bear the knowledge of knowing precisely what he’d lost.

Crawley looked deflated but he nodded and returned to his position at Aziraphale’s side.

“I get it, won’t bring this up again,” he promised, and Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile.

They sat in silence after that, once again watching the rain fall down in thick sheets. After a while Aziraphale looked up to see a beautiful green and brown pear hanging right above him. He’d had a few already, but it did look quite delicious, perfectly ripe and ready to be plucked. He would have to get up and risk getting rained on to get at it though.

As if sensing his hesitation Crawley sighed and snapped his wing up. A good hit of black feathers against the branch, and the fruit fell right into Aziraphale’s hands.

“Oh! Thank you, my dear!” he said in delight, and the demon rolled his eyes and didn’t look at him, though Aziraphale saw the hint of a smile as he bit into the fruit.

*

Aziraphale had left not soon after witnessing the execution, not wishing to watch the suffering of those poor men for the entirety. He knew that this was all part of the Plan, and that things would turn out just fine. It didn’t mean that he wanted to be near the agony and grief poisoning the air, when he was not permitted to do anything about it.

The demon had stayed, for whatever reason.

After some aimless wandering Aziraphale had decided that a drink was in order, and he did so enjoy the local wine. He found a small village near Jerusalem, close enough that nobody took note of strangers passing through, but far enough away to not feel the aura of grief. Aziraphale had noticed that focusing in on a particular strong emotion made it hard to shake it off, unless one moved quite a bit away from the human in question. It was why he often tried to not focus in on the mess around him at all, merely letting humanity flitter by him and taking note of things that happened to catch his eye now and then.

To his surprise Aziraphale found a familiar figure in a dark corner of the first tavern he went to. The demon, now going by the name of Crowley, sat hunched over at a small table, red hair spilling out from her scarf and a hand loosely wrapped around a clay cup.

Aziraphale looked around briefly, wondering whether he should approach, and then decided that he had only seen her about an hour ago and it should be fine. Compared to the occasional decades they didn’t run into each other, this time it was if they hadn’t parted at all.

He ordered a jug of wine, and approached her, briefly hit by a strong aura of suggestion to go anywhere else but near her. The demonic suggestion reconsidered when faced with a celestial entity, and Crowley looked up when the chair next to her scraped over the ground and Aziraphale set the wine down.

“Back sssso ssssoon angel?” she slurred, evidently well on her way to being drunk. To be polite Aziraphale still poured wine for her when she pushed her cup towards him.

“Ah yes. I will stay in the area until the whole business is over, I should think.” He made a vague hand gesture to indicate the ineffable plan for one single human’s fate. “What about you then? Not staying to watch?”

“No,” Crowley hissed again. The parts of her eyes that weren’t yellow looked bloodshot, and Aziraphale wondered if she had been crying or whether it was from the drink. “Just inspired one of those bullheads to be a bit merciful in the face of suffering.”

She didn’t specify, and Aziraphale didn’t ask. He wasn’t quite in the mood to try and lighten a conversation just yet. Maybe in another decade or so.

He was halfway through his second cup when Crowley suddenly slammed her hand on the table. Aziraphale startled, though it was clear that Crowley had been more clumsy in placing her hand on the rough wood rather than intentionally forceful.

“What do you think She feels about all this?” Crowley asked, staring at the contents of her cup. “Some here say he was Her son. You think She cried as bitterly as his like… _actual_ mother? Who birthed him and taught him and took care of him?”

Aziraphale bristled at the idea of a demon questioning the Almighty, more out of habit at this point. He’d long given up at resisting discussing religion and philosophy with the demon, as there was nobody else who could match him in first hand experience with humanity.

“Does She grieve and mourn lost loved ones like the rest of us?” Crowley ranted. “Or does She just-” the demon snapped her fingers as if she was performing a miracle. “-make Herself feel all better?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. A few strands of her hair brushed against his fingers, and he pulled away with a pang of shame he could not place.

Crowley grimaced at him, and Aziraphale thought she must be trying to grin.

“Oh what am I talking about? Of coursssssse She does. It’s what you do up there, right? Miracle away grief and sadness and feel all better without whoever you were missing, right?”

“You mustn’t talk like this. Of course She grieves,” Aziraphale sighed. “To feel love towards something and then lose it, it is only natural to mourn then.”

“Then it’s the love you’re miracleing away! Poof, love’s gone, no reason to be sad and ssstop being all holy up there.”

Crowley blinked furiously in a way that made Aziraphale wonder if demons were physically capable of crying, or if she was just very good at keeping tears at bay.

Aziraphale couldn’t look at her then. He couldn’t speak of how deeply he still loved. How he was glad of the grief being dulled.

“You’re being unfair,” he said quietly. Sometimes he wondered if he should liken the agony he had felt back then to the Fall, but he was sure that Crowley would be upset by that. It didn’t seem quite right to compare sadness – even one as deep as a heartbroken angel’s – to Falling and having your Grace burn off physically.

“Angels aren’t equipped to change and heal. Only humans can do that without breaking.”

He remembered losing countless of them, with their short lives. Once there had been so few, Aziraphale simply had to know them all. He remembered sitting at Eve’s side as she cried bitter tears, the first mortal mother to lose a child, and feeling her pain. He remembered how she eventually healed and went on, still capable of love and joy. Aziraphale had been envious of her ability to lose someone and not break on the memory of a little boy’s smiles.

It happened over and over, of course, and Aziraphale mourned with the humans for those gone. He soon learned that the underlying sadness he felt for the lost was just as strong every time, but that it became easier to remember and celebrate them as the others did. Humanity had only been a few centuries old when Aziraphale had sat on a mountain, far above the clouds, and tried it for himself. He had barely looked at the stars in those first years, but when he did he found so many that his love had made, and empty spots that would be filled with new ones when the time came. It hurt, but learning from the humans he had braved to look, and though the pain in his broken heart didn’t leave, he felt joy at their sight nevertheless. Since then he’d grown quite fond of looking up at the stars and remembering holding the hands that forged them.

Crowley was silent for a while. Then she rubbed her hands against her eyes, and sighed.

“Wouldn’t want you perfect little sssoldiers broken,” she said, but it sounded too sad to be biting.

She stood quickly, swaying drunkenly. Aziraphale reached out on instinct, hands hovering near her waist. It wouldn’t be right to touch a woman (even one that was only looking like one for now) like this suddenly and without permission, and strange to touch a demon at all.

“Are you alright, dear?” he asked. He really didn’t want her to get discorporated because she’d drank too much.

“’m fine,” Crowley muttered. “Gotta be away from here now. Think the Celts are fun this time of year? Must be.”

She paused for a few moments, until she stopped swaying. Finally Crowley looked at Aziraphale and smiled weakly.

“Really. I’m fine, angel.”

She really didn’t sound fine, but Aziraphale didn’t stop her when Crowley pulled her scarf closer around her head to shadow her eyes, and left him behind.

He felt a pang of sympathy as the demon left, and more than anything Aziraphale wanted to follow Crowley and make sure she was actually feeling better, to hold her and wrap her in his wings until any comfort he could offer would take away her grief. She was so good at picking out humans to care for too much, and each time Aziraphale knew Crowley to be upset at truly horrifying things happening to them. He really ought to be there for her in those times, and not leave her alone in her melancholic states.

Aziraphale sighed and looked at his hand where Crowley’s hair had brushed his fingers. She looked sharp and lanky, but somehow he was sure that he wouldn’t even mind holding her close like that.

With a start Aziraphale realized what he had just thought and he nearly stumbled out of his chair in shock.

Had he really thought of a demon in affection? Of holding them?

Blurred as his memories were, Aziraphale could only remember ever holding one person like that. He’d given hugs to humans and held children, sure, but he had never meant to actually embrace anyone to _hold_, because he _wanted_ that, because he – God forbid – lo-

He shook himself, fists clenched so tight that his nails very nearly broke skin.

He couldn’t!

The mere thought of this was sullying the memory of his beloved! Cruelly cut down by one of the dishonorable Fallen. His memories and Heaven were all that was left of his love, and to turn to a demon, to waver in his loyalty to Heaven even once? It was unthinkable!

He thought of holding Crowley, of gazing into the serpent’s eyes. He thought of red wings and warm arms holding him close just as he was contemplating holding another, and eyes that contained galaxies. How dare he think another creature’s eyes so beautiful when his love so surely held that honour? Had Aziraphale forgotten?

With shaking hands Aziraphale reached for the wine jug, miraculously full again, and poured himself another cup.

It was all this talk of loss and grief, he decided. It was the atmosphere of the city. Yes, he just needed to clear his head, and then those foolish thoughts would go away once more.

*

Light wrapped around Aziraphale’s hand and it took him a few moments to see that it was in the shape of fingers. His lover pulled him along, wings navigating surely and steadily through space. A pang of pain rose up in Aziraphale, quickly drowned by the simple wish of wanting to see what his love had looked like.

The memory was a fond one, and it would be made all the sweeter for seeing his love properly.

Together they landed on a planet that was entirely covered in ice, only occasionally cracking with liquid that quickly solidified.

“Look!” His beloved called, and pointed up at the sky.

It was a delicate violet, with pale blue clouds. Different from the planet Aziraphale knew the main events of creation would take place on, as far as he was concerned, but utterly magnificent.

“I made the star emit a special kind of wavelength that goes really well with this atmosphere,” his love explained as Aziraphale struggled to look away from him in his memory. “Makes this colour, right. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Aziraphale laughed and knocked their wings together playfully. Though he couldn’t see his face he knew that his love was looking at him expectantly, waiting for approval. As if it was him who made final decisions, and not the Almighty who approved all creations.

“Oh it’s quite lovely,” Aziraphale teased. “But would you make something for me too? Something I’d like?”

“Any colour! Come on, lets see if I can create a sun to match!”

“Ah lets see. Yellow… oh no, beige and cream! Could you make a sky in a colour like that? It would look so charming. And make the clouds brown! Like fresh soil? Just imagine how pretty lines of clouds would look like crossing each other on such a sky?”

His love laughed and somehow Aziraphale knew that no other angel would find the snort quite as charming as him.

“What? _Tartan_? Really?”

“It would be pretty,” Aziraphale insisted, his jest now actually sounding appealing the more he pictured it.

Hands brushed through his hair and a kiss was planted on his cheeks.

“You’re ridiculous. But true to my word, I’ll do it! Just you wait!”

It was the first time in four millennia that Aziraphale remembered waking from one of his rare sleeps with no tears on his cheeks, and only a smile on his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale had miracled a bed in the little house he currently occupied in northern Italy, as he had never seen the need to own one before. It had been a few centuries since he’d last tried to so much as nap. There was simply too much to do, too many places to visit and human experiences to enjoy.

When he received an incomprehensible message from Crowley only to seek him out in Spain and find him absolutely sloshed, there had been little else he could do for him. Their Arrangement called for occasional assistance, and dragging a miserable demon moaning about the absolute wretchedness of humanity did fall under “help”. With nowhere else to go, he’d gone to his house, and with nowhere else to put a drunk demon, summoning a bed it was.

Crowley curled up on the bed, complaining about the pillows and the light and also Aziraphale using a quick miracle to place him in comfortable sleep attire. He was much too drunk to try and sober himself up, so it was best to leave him to go about it the normal way.

So pitiful was the demon, that Aziraphale ended up taking off his boots and sitting next to him on the bed.

“sss torture for no reassson,” Crowley whined. “Got a commendation! Didn’t even _do_ anything, angel. Who taught them thissss?”

Aziraphale sighed as Crowley buried his face against his thigh. His glasses had been placed on the bedside table and the light in the room wasn’t doing much for the headache he probably had. A week of drinking, seriously. Taking pity on him Aziraphale manifested his wings and wrapped them around the demon, shielding him from the sun coming in through the thin curtains.

“I know, they are quite inventive when it comes to… things they happen to be a little too enthusiastic about.”

“They think they’re doing it for your lot,” Crowley spat, but Aziraphale had long since learned to let these comments slide. At least when Crowley was drunk like that.

“Still no reason to drink for a _solid week_. Honestly, I thought you’d discorporate yourself, my dear.”

“M’ liver wouldn’t dare,” Crowley muttered. “And it’sss not like all of us can just make bad feelings go away. Ssssome of usss have to actually deal with mou- m- sad. It’s jussst angels making it all go puff.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together but Crowley had already drifted off to sleep. Over the centuries he occasionally nagged Aziraphale about that, always in offhand comments about how angels didn’t feel negative emotions or had to deal with grief at all. Not grief for anything important anyway, or in a way that compared to mortals. Aziraphale let it slide, just as Crowley merely grinned mockingly when the angel reminded him of demons being quite incapable of truly perceiving the gentler emotions. It wasn’t true, of course, he knew that Crowley deep down wasn’t all that bad. Couldn’t be at least, unless he was one Heaven of a liar.

Crowley looked vulnerable in his sleep, and Aziraphale wondered how he could possibly do it so frequently, occasionally even sleeping way longer than healthy humans were capable of. He looked distraught, even in his sleep. Despite his valiant attempts to push back any tender emotions about the demon, Aziraphale couldn’t deny how terribly fond he was of him, and it pained him to see Crowley so upset. He was prone to melancholy, sure, but Aziraphale did try to snap him out of those moods when he could.

Hoping that nobody would reprimand him for too many useless miracles once again, Aziraphale brushed his hand through the air over Crowley’s face.

“Dream of whatever you love best in the world,” he said, quite out of habit. He still wasn’t entirely sure that demons were capable of love, or whether it had been burned out of them in the Fall.

Still, Crowley’s face relaxed and he let out a soft breath that tickled against Aziraphale’s leg. His hand curled into the fabric of Aziraphale’s jacket and at once he looked to be at peace.

Aziraphale wondered briefly what he was dreaming of, but such things were private, and it would not do to pry into his friend’s mind. He was too worn out to even care about denying that they were this to each other. He certainly saw Crowley much more than any angel. Not that he really knew if he could call anyone up there a _friend_ in the classic sense of the word.

Being first and foremost a guardian, it was nothing to Aziraphale to sit for hours, his wings and presence shielding Crowley from whatever dark thoughts had taken hold of him. Aziraphale hadn’t actually seen what was going on in Spain right now exactly. Even just the descriptions were a bit much.

It was only when Crowley shifted, the movement dislodging his hand from Aziraphale’s clothes that the angel decided to get up. By now Crowley looked to be merely asleep and not just passed out in drunken stupor.

Careful as not to disturb him Aziraphale got up and stepped to his wardrobe. He found that he quite enjoyed the wonderful fabrics and lavish decorations that were in fashion in this part of the world, and collected a few choice pieces that he loved. He was still wearing his travel clothes from when he’d gone to fetch Crowley, so it was about time to change.

Humming quietly Aziraphale picked a nice vest and a shirt with ruffles on the cuffs and set them out on a chair before starting to take off his outer layers. Dust wouldn’t dare stick to his clothes, so he merely straightened out his coat and hung it up. He was about to change out of his shirt when the bed creaked.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, his voice rough from sleep. “What is that?”

Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley staring at his chest intensely. He glanced down at himself, finding that his shirt was open in such a way that most of his torso was revealed. At first he wasn’t sure what the demon was staring at, before he realized that Crowley had never seen him in a state of undress like this, and thus had never seen his marks. 

“Oh, these?” he ran a hand over the spiderweb of cracks around his ribs. They were a faint pale cream colour, though they would stand out stark gold against his skin in Heaven or if he were to let go of his human form a little. “Those are marks from the rebellion.”

“You never told me you were hurt like this during the revolution,” Crowley whispered, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

“Oh, they’re not from the fights,” Aziraphale reassured him. “This is what happened when I realized who I’d lost to all that business. Felt the full extent of my anguish and-”

He made a vague gesture, surprised at how easy it was to speak of the worst moments of his existence. He had never tried since that day in the Garden, so perhaps it was the time that made it easier.

“-literally started breaking my celestial body. The Almighty healed us with the bliss of forgetting, or else I’d surely have broken cleanly apart. That’s what the marks are, my dear. Old remnants of where we started breaking.”

Crowley’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at Aziraphale. Then he scrambled to his feet, coming close and letting his hand hover near the scars. At the proximity of a demon they started to glow faintly, looking more like what they would be like in Heaven.

“You _literally_ broke,” Crowley whispered. “I thought… I didn’t know it was _this_ bad.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to react to Crowley’s concern washing over him like this. He was supposed to be taking care of him now, not add more reasons to be upset over.

“Well, it’s quite alright. The Fallen are not fondly remembered for causing this, but I think we can let bygones be bygones for me.”

“I kept bringing it up, too,” Crowley went on, ignoring Aziraphale. “I’m so sorry for doing this to you.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, nearly startling himself at the contact.

“It never spread,” he reassured Crowley, moved by the rarity of a demon showing remorse. “So you aren’t to blame for anything at all, my dear.”

Crowley looked at the damage for a few moments more, before pulling away and turning on the heel to walk towards the door.

“Right. Well- I’m starving. You know any restaurants with good food round here?”

Aziraphale saw it for the clumsy diversion that it was, but felt that he could allow Crowley to change topics like that after recent events.

“Of course, dear. I know just the place.”

*

The day was coming to an end and Aziraphale felt warmth spread through his body. Good food, lovely wine (albeit one they had miracle to be less sour than it had been originally), and excellent company were enough to make the day that had started out so poorly be one of the angel’s favourites. He had felt quite pleased when Crowley had rushed in to rescue him from an unpleasant fate, and Aziraphale’s heart was still fluttering with the excitement of it all. Yes, he had lost his lovely new frock but that was a small price to pay for having Crowley whisk him out of his jail cell.

“I think I will depart to England tonight,” Aziraphale mused, savouring their final round of wine. Neither felt like adding to the bottle they shared between them, both too busy with other things at the moment to linger. “I am looking into opening a bookshop. It would be a delightful way to spend my free time and have something more permanent you see. Since we’re both on the islands most of the time anyway.”

Crowley’s long fingers fiddled with his cup as he sprawled on his chair. He always ended up moving his hands over things when they were deep in conversation and it wasn’t the time and place to walk about and shift positions. Always in motion, and Aziraphale liked him that way.

“Probably gonna stay here,” he said. “Downstairs wants to keep an eye on things and since I’m already here.”

His lips twisted in distance and Aziraphale made a hum of sympathy as he rubbed at his wrists. An unpleasant business indeed, but thankfully he wasn’t the one to gather information for Heaven in this case.

Crowley’s chair scraped against the floor as the demon leaned forward, hands catching hold of Aziraphale’s wrists lightly, fingers brushing against the coarse material of his jacket.

“Did you get hurt?” Crowley asked with a frown, examining the skin that was free of blemishes, though he did shift Aziraphale’s sleeves to take a better look.

“Oh not at all, dear boy,” Aziraphale reassured him but didn’t pull back. The touch wasn’t unwelcome and his mood was too good to try and keep an appropriate distance. “Not even a scratch. Just got used to the weight of the manacles a bit. A phantom sensation as they say.”

Crowley grunted and pulled away, his cheeks faintly pink.

“Make sure not to get captured by vengeful revolutionary humans again,” he warned. “Can’t just always swoop in and get you. Can’t promise somebody from my lot won’t catch wind of an angel in distress first either.”

Aziraphale somehow doubted that. Crowley was quite adept at figuring out when Aziraphale really needed him around, and over the years it had become quite difficult to hide his pleasure at the demon’s company. He really ought to keep Crowley at a distance, given that he was the adversary. He also was the best company he could possibly ask for, and Aziraphale did struggle in denying himself the smaller pleasures of life.

They finished the wine and got up to walk outside onto the quieter streets of Paris, elbows brushing. The night was lovely and one might even forget that the entire nation was in upheaval right now. Stars never did care for what humans were up to for one.

“Right, I’m going that way,” Crowley said, gesturing south vaguely.

They had stopped under a streetlamp, illuminated by the golden light. Aziraphale smiled sweetly.

“Well, I shan’t thank you for the daring rescue,” he said. “But I’ll say that I’m quite happy about how the day ended up.”

Crowley made a non-committal noise and Aziraphale quickly leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, right under the tattoo of a coiled snake, before he lost his bravado. An acceptable thing to do in this part of the world, and anyone who might happen to catch a glimpse would simply see two friends saying their goodbyes.

“Safe travels,” Aziraphale said when he leaned back, still smiling innocently as Crowley mumbled something, cheeks now beautifully flushed.

“Same to you, angel,” he muttered and went on his way, legs moving a little more erratic than usual.

Aziraphale watched him go until he disappeared in the shadowed part of the street, staring unabashedly. Crowley did look quite gallant, despite the simplicity of his clothes, a dashing rouge and hero. His coat was a dark red, a slight deviation from Crowley’s usual all black attire. He looked quite good in red, Aziraphale felt, and he wondered if the demon would accept any kind of fashion advice from him.

Once the demon was well and truly out of sight Aziraphale turned and headed towards the northern gates of the city. A suggestion of being left alone was hardly a miracle, and he travelled unbothered until he reached a small inn that had a nice room free for him. He didn’t feel like travelling all the way to London today, though he certainly could if he really wanted to.

The bed found itself surprised at being much nicer and softer than it had initially been, and Aziraphale sank down into the downy pillows with a satisfied smile. He would have to invite Crowley out for lunch again as soon as they were both in the same area again. It was so much more fun to enjoy meals with him there after all.

Though not tired or needing sleep, the bed was comfortable and Aziraphale felt like the indulgence would be a nice way to round off the day. He burrowed into the blankets and closed his eyes, still thinking of his demon as sleep took him.

*

The precise memory wasn’t one he might have recalled before, but Aziraphale remembered countless moments that were so close in their contents it was hard to tell. He lay on soft pink and white clouds, though he couldn’t remember where exactly in the universe they were. Space as such had only just started to be invented.

The skin on his chest was unblemished by broken gold, and a familiar touch brushed over his ribs gently, petting him in easy affection.

Aziraphale smiled in his dream, glad for the bittersweet moment. It was rare that he sought out these, in fear of causing himself undue grief, but he was glad for the moments when he could just enjoy it.

The tip of a nose brushed Aziraphale’s cheek and he felt wings and skin against him, warm and familiar. He blinked up at the sky, content where he was, and glanced down at the hand against his chest. Out of habit he tried to focus in on it, to truly see it rather than just a shape woven from light. It shifted, and blurred, and then, to his surprise Aziraphale started seeing details. Long fingers, pale against his chest, sharp knuckles stained with paint and neat short nails.

Aziraphale would have stiffened, if this weren’t a memory. He felt the suggestion of a racing heartbeat, joy and surprise battling in his mind. A glance to the side revealed more, red curls against red wings where they wrapped around Aziraphale. His love’s hair was radiant, deep dark red and somehow still glowing where it fell over feathers and skin. It was familiar, but not in the way that the memories usually were. It was something he had seen on Earth, not in the Heavens.

Dread took Aziraphale as he realized this, and suddenly he couldn’t wait seeing his love’s face to dispel his anxiety. The first thing he saw were the eyes, as always, dark and full of light. But for the first time in over five millennia Aziraphale saw the features that surrounded them. Dark brows, a sharp slightly crooked nose and pink lips curling into a content smile when he noticed Aziraphale staring.

Crowley’s expression was open and trusting, and he gazed up at Aziraphale with a loving smile. It wasn’t his eyes that gazed up at Aziraphale, it wasn’t him who ought to be in the memory.

“You should try sleeping, my angel,” Crowley said, and the memory of those words were drowned out by actually hearing the demon’s voice. “It’ll be such a fun way to waste time one day.”

Aziraphale tried to recoil, tried to shove him away, but in his memory he’d just smiled and agreed, but he had spoken to his beloved not-

Aziraphale woke with a gasp, disoriented in the dark room and with too hot sheets clinging to his body. His breath came out ragged as he looked around the room he’d rented for the night, finding it nearly bare. Then the memory of what he had just dreamt hit him, and he scrambled to kick off the blankets and sit up, hands clasped together shakily.

“Oh Lord,” he cried out, terror seizing his heart as he pressed his hands to his lips. Then the tears came unbidden and the angel wept quietly, body wrecked by soundless sobs.

“Oh no, Lord, please don’t,” he whispered through his tears. “Forgive me, love, forgive me.”

How could he _do_ such a thing? Had he really forgotten himself so much that he would go replacing the purest memories he had left with a _demon_? No amount of affection he felt for Crowley could justify the sin of projecting a Fallen onto his beloved, who had been extinguished by one of the demon’s lot.

If Aziraphale went about placing a demon above his loyalty to Heaven and his love for his most cherished angel, then what did that make him? Not even the humans simply _replaced_ their lost. They moved on and they loved again, but he’d heard it over and over that it was wrong to seek an actual replacement. He couldn’t-

Aziraphale sat, bowed in penance and praying erratically, tears dropping on his hands as he begged Her not to let him be so weak as to forget entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* we're getting somewhere??

It was a tad awkward to be around Crowley in the following decades, to say the least. They had both grown quite used to each other’s semi-frequent presence, both residing in London and meeting up then and now to split their assignments and decide who did what and did the other maybe need something done while they were nearby anyway. Aziraphale couldn’t quite suppress his fondness, though he took great care in minding his reactions around the demon now.

Easier said than done, when Crowley was so casually… well perhaps not _nice_, he’d be cross with the angel if he dared imply he was nice, but certainly thoughtful. He’d bring by wine or chocolate ever so often, and sometimes rare and beautifully made books that Crowley claimed to have just happened across. His company was always lovely, and he didn’t push for more than what they already had. Despite the brief kiss in Paris, they barely touched skin to skin anymore at all, and Aziraphale was grateful that at least this temptation wasn’t something he needed to deal with.

Things were absolutely fine and dandy, Aziraphale thought. He had grown quite good at ignoring any uncouth feelings towards the demon as well, very nearly able to ignore the way his heart fluttered at even a glimpse of him. So it came as quite a shock when Crowley decided to turn everything on its head and ask the impossible of him.

Aziraphale was in quite a state as he stormed from the park, walking just a little faster than appropriate. His gloves were clenched hard in his hands, wrinkling the fine material and he nearly lost his hat in his haste. It was quite a miracle that there was nobody to run over in the crowded streets until Aziraphale reached his bookshop and slammed the door so hard it nearly ripped the bell off at the impact.

With a thud Aziraphale leaned back against it heavily, a snap of his fingers locking the door and lowering the blinds, leaving his bookshop in a dim twilight. He breathed out angrily and inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. His hands trembled and he still felt the material of fine paper against his fingertips where he’d taken it from Crowley.

That foolish demon!

Aziraphale let out a sob, despite himself. How could Crowley ask such things of him?

They were already in such danger for associating with each other to begin with. Aziraphale would have quite unpleasant consequences for fraternizing with one of the Fallen. Heaven was quite good at holding grudges when it came to such grave offenses after all. And Crowley would be torn apart quite literally, if Hell knew that he was betraying them, even if in a minor way, for the sake of convenience. Demons weren’t the forgiving type at all.

And to ask Aziraphale for something that would absolutely erase Crowley, take him out of creation in a way no demon ever could do to him?

Aziraphale found his knees weakening and he slid down the door until he was sitting down, hands trembling and clutched to his chest. It did not bear thinking of, but now that Crowley had expressed his desire to get his hands on holy water, it was quite hard to stop imagining what would happen if he did. Rather vividly in fact.

Aziraphale pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shivering at unbidden thoughts of Crowley dissolving in screams of agony, erased in ways that could not be fixed. There would be no new corporation, no trace of his occult soul anywhere at all, not in Hell, not in the furthest reaches of the universe.

He could not bear the thought of spending the rest of eternity without his dearest demon. He really shouldn’t think like this, but Crowley would be the thing he’d miss most in existence. Aziraphale didn’t know that he would enjoy going on with immortality at all if he had no brief little meetings to look forward to. Heavens, even just knowing that Crowley was out there and alive and well where Aziraphale would never see him again would be better than living in a world that lacked him altogether.

The cracks over Aziraphale’s heart ached, and with a pang he realized that he would absolutely not bear this pain a second time. He had nearly broken from the grief of losing the one he loved most in the world, it was quite unlikely that the Almighty would grant him the relief of forgetting a second time. He would have the mercy of blissful ignorance this time round, if he were to lose his love again.

There was no use in denying it to himself in this situation, was there.

Aziraphale was certain that the grief at losing his only friend and object of his affections would come close, if not match, the loss of his beloved. He wasn’t even entirely sure that he would want the relief of forgetting if it was offered. So many of his fondest memories on Earth were ones he’d shared with Crowley, or at least told Crowley about. No, he was certain that if offered, Aziraphale would deny that mercy and accept the possibility of his own destruction.

_Please_, Aziraphale thought, unwilling to imagine a world in which he couldn’t look to his left to see Crowley smiling with fond exasperation ever again. _Please don’t let me lose my love again._

Even once was more than angels were supposed to endure. How cruel could his fate be if he were to bear it twice?

*

Aziraphale watched idly as angels flew above him, light scattered among them as they made stars. He often was nearby when they created the systems their Lord instructed them to, with no real task for himself that he ought to be following. And it let him observe his love at work as well, from where he was sitting.

His love’s vibrant red wings caught his eye soon, and he saw him approach.

“Look, we’re getting closer and closer with the stars,” his love explained, standing at his side. “Those ones over there are gonna be really bright from Earth.”

“I can’t wait to see it from that perspective,” Aziraphale said and captured his love’s hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the paint stained palm.

He looked up to where his love’s face was tilted down to him with the sweetest smile. He then turned to look up at the stars, vibrant red curls falling over his shoulders. Aziraphale blinked, and the familiar sight was replaced by the light of solar flares once more.

“Aren’t these two over there a little too close to each other?” Aziraphale asked, pointing towards two that were circling each other in close orbit. “Aren’t they going to crash?”

“Ah but they won’t!” his love said smugly. “They’re perfectly balanced in their distance, I came up with that. There’s quite a lot of those here and there. And do you want to hear the best part?”

Aziraphale nodded indulgently at the excitement in his lover’s voice.

“They will look like only one single star to humans once they’re around! I looked at the plans for what their vision will be like.” he went on. “That’ll be a fun surprise for when they come up with something better to look with than just their eyes.”

In his memory Aziraphale listened quietly and with rapt attention as his love went on a tangent about different kinds of stars and how he’d gotten to pick colours for them when nothing was specified, and how temperatures played a role in that somehow. Even if he wasn’t sure what his love was on about, it was still wonderful to see him so excited. In recalling the memory Aziraphale could barely focus on a single word.

It occurred to him then that Aziraphale didn’t want to remember Crowley this way; a featureless impression of somebody who had once been there rather than a real fleshed out tangible being.

He would rather remember Crowley vividly than even regain his memories of his love clearly. The thought ought to frighten and scandalize Aziraphale, but he only felt a dull sadness.

It was clear to him that he shouldn’t be remembering his lost love that much at all. Most of the other angels didn’t dwell on their losses, other than knowing that it had happened and that they ought to hate Hell for what its denizens had caused. Aziraphale was the odd one out in constantly returning to his grief and dwelling on it. Perhaps it was his contact with humanity, and their rituals around healing and dealing with loss. Each time Aziraphale witnessed it he couldn’t help but think of his own love. And over the years it had become far too easy to think of him. Easy to start and easy to deal with.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Aziraphale whispered, and he didn’t know what he was saying it for.

Red wings brushed against his, and they gazed up at the stars in silence.

*

The Bentley’s engine hummed gently as Crowley drove them through deserted streets. With a blackout the small display dials were the only artificial lights around, and Aziraphale’s hands clenched around his bag with nervous energy. A strange warmth covered him, seeped through his entire soul and made any sense of mortification or anger and general bad mood at the state of the world feel far away for once.

With his books secure, his body not destroyed in a very painful way, and a confirmation of Crowley’s friendship still being very much intact, Aziraphale felt at peace. He felt loved, the feeling on his mind with profound certainty. It wasn’t like the flashes of love he felt near areas where humans had experienced the emotion strongly. He didn’t need his angelic senses to know that this was what lay in his heart, and that this was what Crowley had displayed to very casually.

“We’re here,” Crowley announced after much too short a time.

Aziraphale, so focused on enjoying Crowley’s quiet presence and not used to London being completely devoid of human light after centuries of lamps and gaslights and electricity, startled to find the exterior of his bookshop right outside the window.

“Right,” he said quietly. “At this point I would once again express my gratitude, but given who we both are-”

“Right,” Crowley replied, a small smile of understanding on his face. “Don’t mention it.”

Aziraphale’s hand brushed over the Bentley’s door handle gently. He didn’t want to leave Crowley just yet, the love much too sweet to let go of. It was just like the times he indulged in nice hot baths and knew he ought to get out, but the slight chill of winter air made him miracle the water back to a cosy temperature to stay longer.

“I don’t suppose now is a very good time to share a bottle of wine?”

Crowley looked contemplative for a moment.

“I probably should go check on my place,” he said apologetically. “And there’s some low grade chaos to spread before the sun rises.”

Aziraphale nodded, finally opening the door and setting one foot on the pavement, still waiting.

“I must make sure that none of my books got damaged. But another time, my dear?”

Crowley nodded.

“Got some ice wine you might enjoy. I bring it along some day, yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled sweetly and finally stepped out of the car. He leaned down before closing the door.

“Good night, dear.”

“Night, angel.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley drive off into the darkness for a few moments, hands fondling the bag of books quietly. Then he quickly entered his shop and locked the door behind him. Even in complete darkness and Aziraphale was familiar with the layout and sensed the space as he rushed towards the back of the bookstore. He had no real flat separate from the rest of it, only rooms that weren’t open to customers with shelves creeping in and taking up much of the space. The living room and bedroom where hardly ever used at all, and only the kitchen was clear of things, as Aziraphale did not want books near a sink.

He dropped the books on the floor carelessly and sank to the ground by his favourite armchair. Unbidden his hands clasped together in prayer, before Aziraphale had even fully grasped what he wished to do.

Speaking to the Almighty was not something any angel really did anymore, as She did not reply at all. It was more of a habit to occasionally pray in his own mind, asking for success and to be granted the ability to carry out his duties well and to Her satisfaction. Aziraphale didn’t even think that She listened to him in any special way, but he didn’t mind. He knew his duties, and if he truly needed to speak to Her directly, he would perform the necessary rituals.

Today however, words spilled from his lips.

“My beloved,” he whispered, frowning in worry and concentration. Now that he was truly praying, he might catch the attention of Heaven, and this really needed to be private. “Forgive me, my soul, that I don’t do this much. I can’t recall your name, and it feels a little silly to try and speak to someone who’s… well who doesn’t exist anymore.”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, fingers trembling and heart racing in his chest at the thought of what he was about to ask. He remembered star filled eyes and the narrow pupils of a serpent.

“I love you, I will never love anyone the exact same way I loved you once,” he went on. “And I will love what little memory I have of you that was not burned in my pain. But would you… My beloved, would you grant me your blessing?”

A blush crept over his cheeks.

“It’s not even possible, I think, to be with the one I love. But he is kind and sweet and he takes care of me when I truly need somebody at my side. I know with him being a demon and you being slain by one of his, it’s a bit awkward. I will never forget you, I will never replace you. I just wish to ask for your blessing for me to find love again.”

Tears gathered in his eyes but it was not grief that made Aziraphale’s heartache. Not grief alone.

How silly must he sound, to pray to a dead angel for blessings in loving a demon?

There was no reply, no angelic presence or sudden stroke of inspiration and clarity. And Aziraphale had not expected it. But he did remember his love’s soul, in some ways, and deep in his heart he knew that loving Crowley would not besmirch his own grace or the memory of his beloved. Six millennia had passed. Humans went only a fraction of a time to heal and move on to fond memories of love before their heart was able to fall in love once more.

He stayed on the ground for a few moments, before sighing and rising to his feet and adjusting his clothes primly.

His heart felt lighter after praying like this, even if there was no one to receive the message. It made Aziraphale feel a little better. Even if it didn’t actually change anything else. There was still the matter of going against everything Heaven stood for, against his orders and superiors. He couldn’t _be_ with Crowley.

Aziraphale picked up his books and set to work, smiling sadly to himself. At the very least he now felt in his heart that _thinking_ the words was permitted. He loved Crowley, and it was a perfect little secret to keep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the apocalypse gets going

Loving Crowley was a singularly stressful experience and yet not one Aziraphale would wish to go without. If he had worried for Crowley’s safety before, with merely an arrangement that could hesitantly be called friendship between the two of them, then the thought of what would happen now was quite agitating. There was absolutely no way Heaven would permit Aziraphale to love a demon as he did, not unless he rejected everything about Crowley and betrayed him to his side. Crowley might get away with claiming that he was merely trying to corrupt an angel, but somehow Aziraphale doubted that his word would be believed. No, Crowley would most certainly face dire consequences if Aziraphale confessed his feelings and – Lord permitting – those feelings were returned.

There was an exquisite pleasure in yearning for the one he could not have, and Aziraphale was quite pleased with his situation on the better days. He relished Crowley’s company, and how the demon would perform tiny acts of kindness for Aziraphale, if he just indicated that he wished for something. On the worst days Aziraphale felt horrid pain in his chest, retreating to the back of his bookshop with the doors firmly closed and tears in his eyes. On those days he would pray that one day he and Crowley could even just be around each other without being too cautious about it.

What wouldn’t he give for those bittersweet moments of stolen affection to be more than this? It shouldn’t be right for him to love truly and deeply twice, and for his love to be out of reach both times.

Aziraphale found his opportunity for closeness in a rather sticky situation. An impending end of days wasn’t how he had hoped to get more time with Crowley, but he supposed that working together against Armageddon was as good an excuse as he would ever get.

He tried not to dwell too much on the giddy feeling of knowing that Crowley confined in him about the Antichrist business, and the weird excitement he felt about telling Heaven half truths about what exactly he was doing about the child and just where his information came from.

Betraying Heaven and turning his back on everything he knew… Aziraphale couldn’t quite bring himself to even think on the matter too hard. Yes, he wanted Crowley, but no, he could not abandon his side. How exactly he could have both these things at once hadn’t presented itself with a viable solution yet, but Aziraphale was optimistic about the chance of this succeeding. Eventually.

For now he was content with seeing Crowley nearly every other day as they planned and schemed on how to ensure that young Warlock wouldn’t bring about the actual end of the world. They met in buses and at concerts, went out to discuss their notes during dinner and sometimes Crowley, still wearing a dress and with dark lipstick, would slip into the gardener’s little cottage to talk about the day. That one was more rare, as Crowley’s role meant he had to stick close to the child, while Aziraphale didn’t wish humans to notice them associating too much and wonder about such different people being close.

His favourite meeting spot was his own bookshop. It was his home, after all, and there was something nice about seeing Crowley sprawled out on his couch with a glass of wine in hand, grinning up at him. It was only in the bookshop that Crowley would occasionally discard his sunglasses, with not a single human nearby, and Aziraphale was fond of how open he looked then. As if he really did trust the angel with his most private self.

It was one of those days. Crowley had brought some delicious little pastries from one of the family run patisseries across town that Aziraphale loved, the wine they shared was particularly good, and Crowley was warm where Aziraphale had slumped against him in a fit of giggles. While the demon usually paced around and switched his seat every other minute, he seemed content where he was for now, and Aziraphale enjoyed the hard lines of his body against his side.

Crowley was telling him something about some sort of TV programme he’d discovered while on break in the Dowling kitchen (they had a television set there, for the staff, how unnecessary and yet absolutely in line with what Aziraphale knew of them). It was something about either cakes or machine guns, the angel couldn’t quite tell, but Crowley kept talking and waving around his hand for emphasis. He clearly had enjoyed whatever it was, even though he wasn’t very good at relaying the information while drunk, especially not when Aziraphale was also drunk and too preoccupied with watching the way Crowley’s mouth shaped words.

His demon was really quite lovely, Aziraphale found. With his cheeks flushed from talking and wine one could barely make out the freckles that Aziraphale knew graced his skin faintly. He had laughter lines around his eyes that crinkled prettily, and his eyes seemed to shine from within each time they flicked down to look at Aziraphale. How had Aziraphale gotten so lucky to count this lovely creature as his friend?

He didn’t notice the moment Aziraphale started to make himself more comfortable against Crowley, but when a stretch of pale throat was right in front of him all of a sudden the temptation was too close to stop.

“My dear,” Aziraphale sighed contently. Crowley’s hair was long these days and falling in waves. He had always found Crowley’s long curls very fetching, so to have that nice hair so close was more than Aziraphale could resist.

Crowley went quiet when Aziraphale nuzzled against his neck, nose bumping against his jawline. He smelled of smouldering wood and burned sugar and Aziraphale just barely resisted the urge to lick a stripe over his skin to see if he tasted just the same.

“You’re so nice,” he said and pressed his face closer.

“Sober up, angel.”

Aziraphale pulled back just enough to pout at Crowley and tell him that this would be a waste of good wine. Then he noticed that Crowley was frozen in place and stiff, eyes wide. Aziraphale suddenly felt like a very small fluffy animal faced with a serpent ready to strike.

“What’s wrong?” he asked petulantly.

“You’re drunk. And acting like you wouldn’t normally.”

Crowley sounded suspiciously sober, but Aziraphale still refused to give up on the pleasant warmth in his centre to sober up as well and make sure.

“I admit, I’m not usually very touch… touchy, but I would.”

Crowley closed his eyes and opened them again in what a motion that very nearly quick enough to count as a blink. Then he grabbed his sunglasses and placed them on his nose.

“Na, angel. I’ll go now, you said something about some new folio you wanted to examine. I’ll leave you to it.”

Aziraphale indeed had mentioned wanting to work on his new acquisitions before Crowley had pointed out the tasty treats he’d brought, so he couldn’t protest too much. When Crowley swung himself off the couch his hand landed on the now empty spot, still warm from the body previously occupying it, now feeling much too cold.

Crowley paused in the doorway and threw a crooked smile back over his shoulder. His glasses hid his expression too much for Aziraphale to figure out his mood properly.

“See you tomorrow, angel. Breakfast’s my treat.”

Then he was gone and Aziraphale heard the familiar sound of the Bentley’s motor moments later. He was all alone.

With a soft moan Aziraphale pulled his feet up onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. He still didn’t want to let go of the alcohol, now out of sadness. He had gone and messed it up again, hadn’t he.

Somehow he ended up doing or saying something wrong with Crowley any time he felt too emotional or thought about how much he wanted to lay his heart bare to the demon. He was too conflicted about what exactly he wanted. Aziraphale wanted to love and be loved, but he also very much wanted to not go against Heaven. He was sure now that loving again wouldn’t sully the memory of his love, but it was still against anything Heaven stood for given that his love was held by a demon.

He either pushed too far or pushed Crowley away when Aziraphale felt startled by any kind of advance and thought too hard on what Hell might have in store for him. Over and over he’d pushed Crowley away when a hand was held out to him. By now Aziraphale worried that he had gone too far, and any affection Crowley might have had for him was long gone. Surely Crowley would tire of the love of someone who was so hot and cold about things.

With one last pitiful glance at the spot Crowley had sat in Aziraphale took the remaining wine and decided to do what Crowley did best. Sleep, and then hope that it would lighten his mood and help him stop thinking about his predicament for at least a little while.

*

The stars at his feet looked suspiciously like a view down on London at night, and Aziraphale knew he was experiencing a human dream rather than a proper memory. For one, he had never stood before his beloved in a nice suit with a bowtie.

The angel next to him stood at his side, a sharp wind tugging at his hair and the wings that looked blood red in the darkness, with gold specks mimicking the city below.

“Are you happy with this creation?” his beloved asked, and Aziraphale glanced down at London.

“I wish I knew what to do,” he said. This was a dream and he wouldn’t get an answer, nor would he have gotten one if it were a memory. “What I want I can’t have.”

Feathers rustled against his, soothingly, nudging him.

“What is it you want, angel?”

When he looked again it was Crowley’s face looking at him from his lost love’s spot. Earnest and a little sad, as if he would go and soothe Aziraphale’s hurts if only he pointed them out.

Aziraphale sighed quietly and didn’t even let himself feel guilty for replacing his love with Crowley in his mind. They weren’t the same, but perhaps it was the emotions he felt that made them overlap in his heart.

“I want.”

Crowley shone like his love did in his memories, overlapping the unknowable erased memory with the face of his demon. When Aziraphale squinted he could focus on one or the other, and it was frustrating to need to do this.

“I think I want the ability to have closure,” he said finally. “Please, my love. I don’t want to forget you. But I want to do the thing humans do, when they get to finish grieving and go on with their lives at peace. You will always be with me, but I think I would like that closure before I can figure out what to do about… my current predicament.”

Crowley’s features disappeared for a moment but Aziraphale could say with absolute clarity that his love wasn’t disappointed or sad. He felt loved, and a hand squeezed his.

Perhaps he truly had spent too much time on Earth if he believed that a human way of processing grief and pain was available to him. That his love would accept his wish to move on.

Perhaps, if he could only have that finishing note, he would have a clearer view on how to go on with love and the Almighty and not having to choose between Crowley and Heaven at all.

*

Heaven made Aziraphale uncomfortable these days, and he very much liked to think that this had everything to do with his half truths and how often he had to come up to report on the Antichrist, and not… other things.

He paced quietly, smiling uneasily at any angel that passed him and shifted his weight from foot to foot. The Archangels had already left, and he should have gone downstairs to Earth once more, but he just needed to know. There wasn’t really anyone he could ask about the details of the great loss they had all suffered during the Rebellion, other than the angels he knew for sure had suffered and then received the gift in turn. Surely somebody here knew if there could be anything done about this.

Uriel appeared eventually, and Aziraphale sighed in relief at his wait being over. He opened his mouth to greet her, but her impassive stare already found him.

“Principality Aziraphale,” she said. “I thought you were already returned to earth. The work you do is invaluable, not a second to waste.”

His lips twitched and he nodded.

“I wanted to ask about… you know the… the loss. If you know anything about details?”

His eyes flickered to the golden scales that graced Uriel’s face. He had seen her skin split there, remembered the brief horror of seeing an angel in anguish.

She nodded with slight sympathy in her eyes.

“This is not something we speak of much. But ask.”

“Do you… ah. Do you remember much of those gone? Think of them whenever you let your mind unfocus or even dream?”

Uriel thought for a moment.

“Not unless I’m trying for whatever reason. But there usually isn’t one. Why? Does the gift not work on you?”

Aziraphale nodded and shook his head in one rigid motion. He let out a nervous laugh.

“I think being near humans makes me think of him too much. All that short human lifespan thing, keeps bringing grief back up.”

Uriel winced in sympathy.

“I admire your ability to stay on Earth with all that. You will receive a commendation soon, I believe.”

With that she turned to move on, and Aziraphale grasped for something to say to keep her there.

“I thought, maybe there’s some way to remove the gift? Or make it work differently? Because it’s really a strange feeling.”

“Removing the gift even a little would break you,” Uriel replied slowly, as if speaking to a human child. “This is why there is no way to do so and no memory of what we have lost.”

“But don’t you want to have at least a little to remember them by?” Aziraphale cried, now growing a little agitated. There had to be something for him to do to reach some kind of peace of mind. “Don’t you at least wish you knew their name?”

At this Uriel froze. She stared at nothing for a while, then turned her head to stare at Aziraphale with narrowed eyes.

“Her name was Hanael,” she said quietly.

Aziraphale stared at her, mouth open.

“But all memory was erased! I thought that’s why I couldn’t recall.”

“The names of the slain are forever remembered in Heaven’s collective mind,” Uriel interrupted. “The names of the Fallen have been burned and purged from our minds, forever lost as a punishment for their rebellion.”

Aziraphale’s heart seized uncomfortably and he was acutely aware of Uriel’s stare piercing into his core.

“Ah. My apologies, I must have misunderstood back then,” he tried with a laugh. “Was a bit out of it at the time.”

Uriel was still staring as he thanked her for her time and made his way towards the escalator down to earth. Aziraphale waited until he was well and truly outside of Heaven to cover his mouth with his hands and take a shuddering breath, his heart racing.

He had only meant to close up that chapter of his existence, and now he found that everything he had believed for over six millennia was a lie with one single word? How often had he mourned for the cruel way his lover must have been slain, or regretted that he hadn’t been there to help?

And now it turned out that his lover had actually lived. Might even still be alive? As a demon no less? It turned everything Aziraphale had ever believed in on its head. The one he had missed for so long wasn’t just one of Heaven’s losses, no, he stood opposed to everything Aziraphale believed in.

Oh, but what if he _was_ still out there, and alive? Did he remember Aziraphale? Was he even the same? He couldn’t be like any demon Aziraphale had ever encountered, surely, his sweet creative love! But oh, if he was a demon, then surely Crowley knew-

Oh Lord Almighty, Aziraphale thought, tears prickling at his eyes.

_Crowley_.


	6. Chapter 6

Aziraphale felt like he was wading through a thick bowl of custard. Everything felt numb and distant and wrong and he felt as if the world around him was distorted. So much was going wrong much too quickly, with the fate of the world depending on whether or not he could find the Antichrist quickly enough, with Heaven so very unwilling to see reason.

Crowley had discarded any sense for propriety somewhere between realizing that they were very likely to fail and a last attempt to figure out what to do. How could he suggest that Aziraphale abandon Heaven just like that? How dare he offer what Aziraphale so desperately wanted but could not take! Not when there was still a chance that all would fall back into place and be neat and proper once again. If he could only just talk to Her all would be as before.

But there was no before anymore either.

Everything that Aziraphale believed in was crumbling before his eyes and slipping through his fingers like the fine sand of an hourglass, quickly approaching the end of time on earth. Heaven wasn’t behaving like the embodiment of all that was good and right in the world, the war would destroy humanity and everything they were meant to guard, and now his beloved had turned out to be a Fallen. That last bit hit harder than anything else, as Aziraphale had tied so many to his feelings of loyalty to the idea of honouring what little he had left of his memory.

It was only through sheer force of will in the face of impending doom that Aziraphale pushed aside all the confusing emotions in his heart aside. He couldn’t go questioning if he had seen his love or whether his suspicions were correct when it came to his current identity.

Either way, if he couldn’t find a way to prevent Armageddon he was likely to perish in the resulting war. Not to mention that he would have to fight against the side his beloved had fallen to. Against Crowley…

Their love, fragile and unspoken, would end in tragedy if Aziraphale couldn’t somehow manage to speak to God, to put an end to everything. There would be no survivors if Hell won, the angels ready to fight to the last, and Crowley would be shown no mercy by Heaven either. No matter how things played out they would be torn apart. Unless somehow, against all odds, there was a way to forgive a demon, to make them an angel again. Surely, _surely_ Crowley was not so damned and evil? Surely his once beloved, his starmaker, couldn’t be so bad as to be banished forever? He hadn’t meant to Fall, surely?

His anguish at approaching doom was the only excuse Aziraphale had for hurting Crowley as he did, for rejecting him not once but twice. Oh, he never wished to see such pain on his dearest’s face, but there was simply no way he could run to the stars with him. And what would he even do there, surrounded by memories of his past? No, they would be chased down and destroyed, one for being on the losing side and the other for being a traitor.

Aziraphale was so lost in thought and fretted over how to reach God and plead with Her to stop the madness, that he was caught completely off guard by the angels.

It really didn’t help his mind sort out the mess of thoughts and doubts that had crept in unbidden, each of their words, each of their _punches_ was like a crack inside a dam that held all the things an angel shouldn’t think of at bay. Aziraphale didn’t know how many more kicks his faith could take before he would drown in treacherous thoughts.

“I really shouldn’t be surprised,” Michael said, their eyes full of a cold pity as trumpets sounded above their heads. “Your loved one was a traitor, and your new flame is a demon. Not sure if you have a type or just a combination of bad taste and bad luck.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to Uriel, who just stared back at him impassively. Of course she had told the others.

“But surely I’m not the only one with- with a Fallen loved one?”

“None of them dwell on the betrayal or betray us themselves,” Uriel said softly, and then all three angels looked up towards the Heavens with a soft smile.

“Oh look, it’s starting.”

And with that Aziraphale was left to feel lonelier than he ever had felt before.

*

Jumping around without a corporation was both amusing and extremely disorienting. Without eyes to see by Aziraphale was left with a blurry mess of impressions and souls all around him, hearing a jumbled mess of human thoughts and emotions. He could barely make out where he was at all, and his leg kept panging painfully where his celestial body had once sustained a battle injury.

Crowley’s aura was a balm in the confused wrongness around him, the only spot not touched by a strange sense of dread that had settled over the world in its last hours. Crowley was like staring directly into the sun, which angelic eyes were perfectly capable of enduring, unlike human eyes. He looked like a nebula, dark and burning and very clearly fiendish, but also the nicest and most comforting vision Aziraphale could have hoped for. He was an entire planetary system of emotions and thoughts and memories all by himself.

A pity that he couldn’t stay with him.

Possessing somebody’s body without asking was quite rude, in Aziraphale’s opinion, but the impending end of the world was an emergency. Thankfully the woman introducing herself as Madame Tracy was kind enough to forgive him the intrusion into her physical form.

“That all sounds dreadful,” she gasped after Aziraphale gave her a quick rundown of the situation.

Two minds sharing one body had its perks, as Aziraphale could clearly feel that Tracy felt his own thoughts in turn, aware of the lack of any lies. She wasn’t at all upset about angels being real or Armageddon being imminent, taking everything in stride.

“That calls for a nice cup of tea as we discuss what to do,” she said, and Aziraphale heartily agreed.

Her body twitched as Aziraphale tried to reach for a cupboard where he assumed the tea to be and Madame Tracy tried to lean down to grab the kettle. Figuring out how to share control of her body was harder than it looked, especially as Aziraphale wasn’t willing to try and cut off her agency entirely. He was imposing enough as it was.

After a brief indecisive struggle they sat down in a chair instead.

“Well then,” Aziraphale sighed. “Looks like this might be a bit more difficult than I thought.”

“I’m quite happy to let you take over, dearie,” Madame Tracy said. “You’re the one who knows how to stop this mess.”

It was the strangest thing to see the man who’d gotten Aziraphale discorporated pop out of Madame Tracy’s bedroom (and the angel could feel a surge of fondness wash over him from the human’s consciousness, which softened him a little and made him forget how cross he was with the man). The fact that they had to race to Tadfield on a tiny moped that Aziraphale miracled to go at speeds he usually yelled at Crowley for also didn’t quite help the weirdness of the situation. But it was time for drastic measures.

Thankfully focusing on pushing a moped through the air wasn’t quite as difficult as he thought it would be. He merely focused on his goal with all his heart and believed in the urgency of getting there, so the vehicle obliged and figured out how to go from there. He wasn’t sure if he could have figured out how to drive without that effect anyway.

Aziraphale hoped Crowley would get there in time, he was certain that the demon’s support was needed in figuring out how to stop the apocalypse. Then his mind wandered to his beloved, a Fallen, and his heart ached for him.

“Who is that?” Tracy’s voice rang in their currently shared head. “Is this another angel? They’re quite beautiful.”

“It’s my beloved, from before time started,” Aziraphale replied in his head. He didn’t wish for Shadwell to hear him speak of this, and he doubted words would be heard over the noise of the rushing wind anyway. “I lost him and have no memories of details, other than the fact that I have loved.”

“Oh dear, how did that happen? Is it because it was so long ago?”

“Not at all. I wouldn’t have forgotten something so important as his face. No, angels aren’t meant to grieve, so all our memories were taken away so we wouldn’t break.”

Madame Tracy tutted at him.

“But that’s no way to deal with loss, dearie. Denial will only hurt you more in the long run. And he looks so sweet in your memories, it would be a shame to forget such a lovely face.”

Aziraphale nearly lost control over the moped for a moment and narrowly avoided a collision with a mobile pet grooming van.

“You can actually _see_ him? Proper features and everything?”

“Why yes of course,” she said, a little confused. “Can’t you? These are your memories after all, and I can see him as clearly as if they were my own. Oh he looks so handsome, like an actor who steals everyone’s hearts in romantic movies!”

“I was never able to see him,” Aziraphale whispered out loud, feeling as if he’d be tearing up if he were possessing his own eyes. “As I said, memories and grief would break me.”

There was a pause and a wave of gentle sympathy wrapped around his part of their shared consciousness. Then Madame Tracy nodded.

“It feels rather human to me, the feeling in your heart. Perhaps Heaven simply didn’t know what to do with it?” 

She paused, and Aziraphale could feel her thinking, considering his boundaries.

“How about this then,” she offered. “We deal with this dreadful Judgment Day business and after that we meet and have a nice chat. I have met many grieving people in my work as a medium, so I’m very good at lending an ear. Would you like to try the human way, just sit and have tea and talk about him to process what happened. Next Friday maybe?”

Despite himself Aziraphale felt a smile tug at their lips. What a perfectly human thing to do. The world was ending and this kind woman was still reaching out to his own very individual grief. And hadn’t he always been envious of how humans dealt with these things? They processed their emotions and went on living, over and over if they had to.

“Yes, I would enjoy that very much,” he said, and if they weren’t currently sharing a body and holding on to a moped Madame Tracy would have patted his hand.

*

Just like that Armageddon came to a screeching halt as an eleven year old boy decided that he’d rather not have the world end. He was the Antichrist, in the possession of powers second only to that of the Lord Herself, and there was very little Heaven or Hell or even Satan himself could do about this.

Aziraphale stood at Crowley’s side as he watched the father of the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness usher a group of children into his car and drive off with a confused nod at the adults present. Then the angel and the demon were left on an airfield with two witches and two witchfinders clinging to each other.

“That’s that then,” Aziraphale said with a huff and straightened his vest. After all of that it felt a little strange to just… be done with the end of the world.

“Right,” the young book witch said with a frown. “Uh. Guess I could invite you all over for tea? Is that what you do in England when you witness the end of the world not happening?”

The humans looked at each other with various degrees of confusion.

“I think I would quite like to take you up on the offer some other day, dearie,” Madame Tracy said with a smile and a look at the state of the frazzled young man at Anathema’s side. He looked a little roughed up, though Aziraphale wasn’t sure when that had happened. He hadn’t paid too much attention to those two while everything was happening.

“Everyone probably could do with a good night’s rest.”

She looked over at Aziraphale.

“Now, will my moped take us back to London? At a slightly more human speed?”

“Of course, it’s back to normal,” Aziraphale said with a smile and made sure that the little vehicle would not run out of gas or break down until the two humans were back home.

She smiled back at him and her eyes moved over to Crowley with a strange expression. She was studying him, it seemed, looking him up and down and lingering on his face. Aziraphale squirmed a little, worrying about what exactly she had caught on to while they shared a mind.

“Right, let's go get sloshed,” Crowley muttered and tugged at Aziraphale’s sleeve after giving the humans a mock salute.

Aziraphale tried a wave but really he didn’t want to resist following his demon at all. He only briefly paused to gather up a set of instruments from the ground and carried them along. There would be some way to get rid of those blasted things somewhere.

Crowley tracked down a gas station that sold wine (of a sort that found itself rather nicer than anything sold so cheaply) and happened to find an empty box just the right size to fit a set of scales and a crown.

After everything that happened Aziraphale really didn’t want to think about Heaven anymore, given that he had probably been officially kicked out of their ranks. There would be consequences though, and he owed it to himself and Crowley to think of how to avoid those.

Sitting in a bus, with Crowley’s hand wrapped around his, it was difficult to think of anything but his warm affection towards the demon. There were memories pushing at the edge of his mind, realizations he didn’t want to deal with while sitting in public transport and still riding the high of relief. For now it was enough that his love was safe, at his side, that they were truly once and for all together.

Anything else would have to wait.

*

That night Aziraphale lay awake in an unfamiliar bed, in a body both familiar and entirely strange to occupy. He stared at his hands, long and pretty and dextrous enough to be capable of all sorts of artistry. Crowley had left him there, saying it would be less suspicious if Aziraphale spent the night in his flat, while going off somewhere to wander around London’s streets. They would meet the next day, he’d promised.

It gave Aziraphale plenty of time to think.

He thought back to Madame Tracy’s advice, and about the cracks that had always been faintly visible on his chest. It couldn’t hurt to try and access his memories. If he wasn’t able to process them, then he also wouldn’t be able remember, surely. But if he truly had become human enough to accept pain and grief? Then that surely would be a good thing.

Staring at his hands that weren’t his, Aziraphale thought back to his memories, the fondest ones he had.

Lying on stardust and seeing heavenly clouds up ahead, resting from nothing. Red gold and white feathers brushed together as the two angels lay face to face, hands clasped together and knees bumping against one another. For a moment everything was blurred, but then Aziraphale pushed past it.

He saw the smile first, pink lips and laughter lines that were so familiar to him in two separate lives. He saw the sharp jawline and hooked nose and familiar fiery curls falling over bare shoulders where the other angel’s robe was cut loosely. He looked younger, in that strange ethereal way angels had once done, but it was him. Aziraphale recognized him in two separate ways. All but the eyes were known to him, were part of a face he had loved before time had started and then once more for six thousand years. The eyes were dark, deep inky black where one day they would become yellow and serpentine. As Aziraphale gazed into them he could see stars glimmer inside, meteors and galaxies sucking him in, reflecting what the angel built with his hands.

“What are you thinking about?” the angel that would one day be known as Crowley asked with a soft smile.

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath, feeling tears in his eyes. His chest hurt and he felt a pang of pain where it had once burst open from grief. Strangely enough it felt more like a release than torture this time, and he managed a smile.

“I’m thinking about how much I missed remembering you,” he said and reached out to brush a stray curl from the angel’s forehead. “And how much I loved you.”

The angel who was and wasn’t Crowley frowned and captured Aziraphale’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale smiled and blinked through his tears, feeling lighter than air. “I believe I am now.”

In a fashionable flat in Soho an angel in a demon’s body clasped his hands together, smiling to himself and staring at the familiar digits. All he had to do to get to hold these hands truly and properly was to face Hell and come back. After everything, it seemed quite like a walk in the park to him.


	7. Chapter 7

Aziraphale walked into Hell and back with a smirk on his lips, and watching Crowley’s soft smile as they shared dessert was the only reward he could ever ask for. To see the love of his life sitting next to him, hand loosely curled around a flute of champagne, safe, and free from Hell’s clutches just as Aziraphale was free from Heaven’s oppressive influence.

The world at large was safe now, free to go on with all its little chaotic emotions and cruel mistakes and wonderful miracles that humans came up with all on their own. They still had choices to make, and their little planet was safe to provide this kind of freedom. And Aziraphale’s own personal world was safe as well, sitting just within reach and laughing soundlessly at some amusing part of a story he was telling.

Crowley looked exhausted, and truly Aziraphale couldn’t fault him for that, even if their bodies technically could go on eternally without faltering once. But his demon had done so much in just the past few days, he certainly could indulge in relaxing now. And relaxed he was. Crowley’s body was loose where it was sprawled over his chair, his face smooth and free from tension or worry lines. He was just enjoying the moment, same as Aziraphale was, and picked at the tastiest bites on his plate that the angel urged him to try. Crowley wasn’t one for trying new foods often, but he did today. 

Aziraphale himself could barely focus on the exquisite taste of his favourite dishes before him, his entire mind preoccupied with how happy he was about his newfound freedom and love. The flavours were just background noise in the face of the overflowing feeling in his heart.

It wasn’t painful as such, but Aziraphale could feel his love sending pulses through his celestial body that drowned out anything else and had to focus hard on not bathing the room in an angelic flow. The cracks over his chest that had been a reminder of pain for all of existence seemed to thrum with it especially where his corporation’s shell was at its thinnest. Without looking Aziraphale was sure that only the layers of his clothes kept the shine over his ribs in check. If he were to open up his shirt he was certain he’d see a visual representation of his love right there.

With Crowley right by his side and the gentle tune of a piano playing in the air Aziraphale struggled to see it as reality. It was such a perfect little bubble of happy contentedness, that it felt as if it ought to pop any second now. Instead Crowley called for a cheque and leaned towards Aziraphale with a smile that had no trace of wickedness or pretence.

“Shall we take this to the bookshop?” he asked, and Aziraphale realized that this really _was_ his new reality. Not just a dream, not a memory that was bittersweet and painful. It was just what life could be like from now on, if he wanted it to.

“That sounds marvellous, my dear,” he agreed readily.

The demon paid and then the two walked out of the Ritz together, so close that their elbows brushed together occasionally. There was nobody left to keep their relationship from after all. Nobody who could punish them. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and Aziraphale wiggled in pleasure as he thought of how terrified Crowley’s old bosses had looked when they realized that the pair was indestructible.

At Crowley’s questioning gaze Aziraphale just shook his head.

“I am thinking about how he can do as we please now,” he said, and the demon grinned in reply.

“Yeah? Anything in particular you’d like to do first?”

“Some things come to mind, yes.”

The bookshop looked as it always had, with the same slightly dusty windows and old paint. If Crowley hadn’t insisted multiple times that it had burned down completely Aziraphale wouldn’t have guessed that anything was off about it at all. The door squeaked in a familiar way when Crowley opened it and made a grand bow and motioned for the angel to step in. It looked as if he had aimed for it to be teasing, but even with his eyes covered Aziraphale felt that his expression was too open for the gesture to be anything but genuine.

The familiar ringing of the bell over his head announced Aziraphale’s return to his bookshop. Inside it looked exactly as he had left it, with not an errant pamphlet out of place, and all his stacks of books arranged just as he remembered last. Just to make sure Aziraphale stepped further inside and looked around, paying attention to where he had placed his most prized possessions. Crowley followed behind and locked the doors with a snap of his finger. No sense in tempting potential customers to push their way inside after all.

“It all looks just as it should,” Aziraphale said happily as he hung up his coat.

He moved over to the back of his shop where the kitchen was also just as it ought to be. A particularly fine vintage of red wine helpfully placed itself to the front of his cabinets, so Aziraphale picked up two glasses and carried everything over to the array of couches and armchairs.

Crowley removed his sunglasses and let his eyes wander over the bookshelves as Aziraphale poured each of them a generous share of the wine.

“Don’t you want to examine your books right away?” he asked.

Aziraphale shrugged with a smile as Crowley sat down on his usual spot, raising his eyebrows in surprise when the angel sat down beside him rather than his armchair.

“I’m sure it can wait until we’re done celebrating our retirement, my dear.”

Their fingers brushed as Aziraphale handed Crowley the wine, and the demon smiled softly.

“I don’t know if the children’s books the Antichrist made appear are just new or whether he replaced some of your existing stock. Either way, I’ll make sure your collection is back to its usual standard in no time.”

Crowley took a sip of his wine and then smiled earnestly.

“’ve got some favours to cash in here and there, finding you all your first editions and rare copies won’t take too long if you give me a list of what disappeared.”

They sat on Aziraphale’s comfortable couch, bodies angled towards each other and knees very nearly brushing. It was so casual and nice, with no underlying fear of discovery, no worry about the impending end of days dampening the mood. Aziraphale swallowed down the lump in his throat, his heart beating way too strongly against his ribs. He loved his wonderful kind demon, more than there were stars in the sky, more than all the endless minutes spent together could do justice. He couldn’t keep that truth to himself.

With a soft intake of breath Aziraphale placed his untouched wine on the small table, and turned his body more fully towards Crowley. He watched the questioning frown cross the other’s face, watched as Crowley’s lips parted as he was about to ask Aziraphale what the matter was.

“I love you, my dear,” Aziraphale said gently, unable to keep the feelings at bay. “So very much.”

Crowley froze for a few seconds, then twitched slightly and curled his shoulders defensively, eyes wide. A quick angelic miracle made sure the wine he very nearly spilled on the carpet ended up safely on the table instead, on top of a very convenient absorbent tea towel.

“You- but you. Hhh. What?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile more at the open shock on Crowley’s face. There was no rejection facing him there, only disbelief and surprise and Crowley’s hitched breath, the demon’s body curling towards him instinctively.

“I do, my dear,” Aziraphale confirmed, edging closer. “I have known that I love you for a while now, though I was so very scared of going against my allegiance to Heaven at first. And then too scared of the repercussions and what would happen to us if I acted on it and how I could endure a broken heart if you were taken from me again.”

As he spoke Crowley let out a shuddering sigh and slumped forward. He closed his eyes as Aziraphale raised his hands cautiously and, when he wasn’t denied the touch, cupped Crowley’s face in his hands.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, covering Aziraphale’s hands with his own slightly shaky ones. He looked up then, his eyes begging. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said.

They had shifted closer together now, as close as their positions allowed.

His hand stroked over Crowley’s cheeks, fingers brushing over the snake mark on face in a loving caress and then moving forward to dig into his lovely red hair. It was short, completely different from what it had been in Aziraphale’s dreams, but just as soft and beautiful.

Crowley whimpered quietly at the gentle touch, leaning closer still, their arms brushing together.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” he whispered, pain and hope still warring on his face, as if he couldn’t quite believe it yet.

Aziraphale felt the thrum of his love beat against his marks in time with his heartbeat, overwhelming him. He had to do this right by Crowley, make sure the moment received all the gravity it deserved. There would be time for overflowing love later, but now he needed his head clear enough to express it, to reassure his lovely demon.

“I will say it as much as you wish,” Aziraphale promised, brushing a kiss over Crowley’s hand that was still curled around his wrist. “I love you, my darling.”

Crowley made a soft sound, at a loss for words himself. 

“I’ve loved you for all of existence,” Aziraphale went on, thrilled by the reaction and the joy slowly melting across Crowley’s features. “Even when I didn’t know you, I still fell for you again. To think that through all of existence you were always by my side, even though we were torn apart like this.”

At that Crowley frowned, searching Aziraphale’s face before the realization hit him. His hands fell off Aziraphale’s wrists and landed in the angel’s lap instead, limp. Aziraphale pulled his own hands away as he noticed the conflicted emotions so near him.

“You _remember_?” Crowley choked out. “Since when?”

“I suspected for less than a day,” Aziraphale confessed. “But I shared my mind with a very lovely woman and it made me realize… Angels don’t know how to grieve but humans know how to mourn and remember with fondness and move on. I think I must have learned how to access my memories because I learned how to be a little bit more human.”

Crowley looked distraught for a few seconds, before he pulled away completely and got to his feet. Aziraphale remained where he was, watching his demon pace back and forth nervously, hands in his hair. He looked overwhelmed with that revelation, but not actively distressed yet.

“But… but it shouldn’t be possible,” Crowley muttered. “You told me so.”

“Have you remembered this whole time?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly realizing how much time his demon must have spent yearning for him, if that were the case.

Crowley’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head before finally turning to look back. His eyes were sad, reflecting the melancholy of Aziraphale’s own memories.

“It was real fuzzy at first,” Crowley finally said. “I was kind of preoccupied with other things when I first ended up in Hell. Guess enough came back to me on that first day in the Garden. At first I just liked you, but then I was certain that it was _you_.”

“But demons were angels once. How come you didn’t break?” Aziraphale asked. It couldn’t be that the demons had lost their ability to love, he knew Crowley to be perfectly capable of the feeling after all. The loss should have hurt them as well.

For a few moments neither of them spoke as Crowley thought it through. Then he shrugged.

“Guess most of us were too angry about Falling at first,” he said. It sounded as if he had spent quite a bit of time mulling that question over. “And then when our grace was ripped out of us we sort of-”

At that Crowley flexed his hands in front of him, miming an explosion with his fingers.

“Got flexible about emotional damage translating into our recently turned occult beings.”

“How dreadful,” Aziraphale cried out. “You escaped what we did but at such a painful price? Oh my dear, I never thought about how such a thing could affect you.”

Crowley’s cheeks flushed and he waved Aziraphale off uncomfortably.

“Wasn’t that bad.”

“But it is! Not only did you have to endure the full brunt of that sense of loss, but you had to live with the knowledge that I was there and just… Oh my darling, I’m sorry. What you must have thought of me when we first met on the wall. How unkind you must have thought me to be.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and clenched them in his lap, staring down at them. His joy at finally being free to love as he pleased mixed with a sharp ache in sympathy for the millennia worth of loneliness Crowley must have endured. How would he have felt, had he known that his lost love was right there but did not know him for all these years? 

The floorboards creaked as Crowley made an uncertain step towards the sofa, lips pressed together, eyes sad and pleading.

“I didn’t think you unkind,” he said softly. “Those first years I just thought you were mad for me hanging out with the wrong crowd and Falling. I thought you blamed me for being kicked out of Heaven and leaving you behind so suddenly without a goodbye. I just thought you hated me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes burned as he stared up at Crowley.

“But that is even worse! Crowley, I never once hated you! I was convinced that my love had died, and yes, perhaps I briefly wondered if you had been the demon to kill him! Never truly, though. I couldn’t imagine you were one of the ones who fought.”

“I figured that out later. I sort of thought you were kidding when you said angels nearly broke. Eventually I figured out that you really did think that your love died, and that you had the marks to show it. After that I just felt bad that you got hurt like that and tried to make sure you’d never be in pain again.”

Crowley was within reach now, gesturing at the angel’s chest where he had seen the cracks a few centuries back. Aziraphale grasped his hand and stood, bringing them a hand’s breadth apart once more.

“What cruel twist,” Aziraphale whispered. “That were yearned and put blame on things outside of our reach. When who we missed was right there. And you had to bear the knowledge of it all this time as well.”

He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s body, pulling him close and feeling the demon’s arms settle on his shoulders loosely. He smiled, and got a hesitant but sweet one in return.

“It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said. “I was just glad you were alright and with me as a friend.”

“Is it too late to be more than friends once more?” Aziraphale asked, leaning closer and trying very hard not to glance at Crowley’s soft lips. “To imagine, we’ve been together before time started, and now we can be together again.”

Crowley had leaned in as well as Aziraphale spoke, head tilting down, his face so close now, close enough to kiss. But as the angel finished he pulled back as far as Aziraphale’s hold would allow, grimacing.

“Angel…” he whispered, sounding as if he had to force himself to get the words out. “If I was a worse demon I’d just… go with it. But I’m not. I’m not _him_. I haven’t been him since the Revolution in Heaven.”

“But you are,” Aziraphale said, tightening his hold just in case Crowley decided to make a run for it after all. Not tight enough to truly hold him in place, but enough to make his intent to hold clear. “You’ve Fallen, but you’re the angel I have always loved, the demon I still love now.”

Crowley shook his head, wincing.

“But I’m _not_. I can’t make stars anymore, and honestly I don’t want to bother. I’m not innocent or sweet or whatever else I was that you loved me back then. I’m meaner and have fun being cruel and making unsuspecting humans’ days a little bit worse. I’m not the one you love, angel.”

Aziraphale thought for a few moments.

“And I’m not the steadfast soldier with nothing to guard,” he replied. “I’ve got vices and don’t care much for Heaven and would rather look at the galaxy from the comfort of my bookshop instead of flying around in the real thing. Does that mean you don’t love me either?”

“What?! How can you think ssssomething like thissss, angel,” Crowley cried out, hands clenching against the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt. “You’re perfect in your entirety. I love you! I’ve woken up and loved you a little bit more every century, every year!”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt in his chest. Hearing those words broke what little hold he had on his emotions and he could tell that he was glowing faintly.

“You know, darling. I kept it from you, of course, but I loved you long before I even knew my lost starmaker was alive. At first I felt terribly guilty because it felt like a betrayal. Angels aren’t supposed to heal and move on. Then I thought that I could not bear to lose you too, and only hoped that wherever my love was, he would be happy that I found it in my heart to love once more, and such a good demon at that. It didn’t matter then, who you were or weren’t. And now that I know I’m merely glad that this old hurt has been soothed as well.”

Crowley’s eyes widened and he made a strange sputtering sound before he managed to get a grip on human speech again.

“Yeah but now that you know I’m… _was_ that. Doesn’t it disappoint you in comparison?”

“No, you’re quite loveable as you are,” Aziraphale said with a pleased hum, swaying them slightly. “You stood up to Satan himself for me, I think that beats out dedicating a few star systems to me. You’re better now.”

“I’m not as pretty as an angel should be,” Crowley went on, letting his body be moved to some unheard music. “Don’t have all that pretty glowy stuff, or shiny celestial eyes or whatever.”

“The one you’ve got are quite fetching,” Aziraphale mused, smiling as he leaned up and accidentally bumped his nose against Crowley. “Looks more earthly than Heavenly. I happen to like that.”

“My wings! You used to be so in love with my wings back then. Always talked about how nice the red and gold was. But they’ll never be that way again. I don’t want them to be that again.”

By now Crowley sounded nearly petulant, and Aziraphale felt as if the demon was desperately trying to find some way to chase him off now.

“Black wings are so sleek and stylish though,” he said, brushing his hands over Crowley’s back where the wings would be if he were to pull them out. “Goes with any outfit and reminds me of the night sky. Ah, isn’t that an idea, they are as lovely as the canvas of your stars.”

Crowley shivered slightly, breath coming out in sharp hisses. He looked up at Aziraphale, pleading.

“But won’t you realize that I’m not what you really truly love anymore?” he asked.

Aziraphale took a moment to study his demon’s face. He thought about how Crowley was always a little bit of a loner, doing his own thing among the angels who worked together to light up the nightly skies, stumbling out of Heaven for a minor infraction, being much too good for the cruelty of Hell, now being all alone among humanity with only Aziraphale at his side. Should Aziraphale deem him unworthy one day, not good enough compared to an actual angel, then Crowley would be really and truly rejected by anything he’d ever come in contact with.

“My darling,” Aziraphale said, trying to sound as earnest as he felt, making Crowley believe him with everything he had. “If the Almighty Herself came down right now, and gave me the choice between returning to how things were with my star eyed angel, and staying here with you but never even see him in my memories again? My love, I would chose _you_. What do I care for some timeless moment in creation when I have everything I ever cared for and wished to protect right here?”

Crowley’s lips wobbled before he pressed them together, and he blinked a few times, sniffing.

“You’re only ssssssssaying that to charm me,” he muttered with a choked up laugh, but Aziraphale felt the demon’s body melt against him, relaxing into their embrace.

“And is it working?”

Crowley huffed a laugh and leaned his brow against Aziraphale’s. They stood in their embrace, all alone together in their small bubble of a bookshop. Then Crowley glanced up.

“One more thing though, angel. Who was… What was my name back then? I can’t recall it.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted. “All names of the Fallen have been burned out of Heaven completely. I can’t even remember what it felt like on my tongue.”

Crowley frowned slightly.

“But wouldn’t you want to know my name?”

Aziraphale huffed and pulled his hands back to cup his demon’s face.

“Your name is Crowley, though you go by Anthony J. Crowley around humans. You chose that name for yourself and you are the demon that I love. What else could I possibly want to know?”

Crowley let out a small sound that seemed to be in the general vicinity of a laugh. His own hands came up to cradle Aziraphale’s head, and he leaned into the demon’s touch with a pleased hum.

“You won’t ever be able to get rid of me if you say things like that, angel.”

“Oh good,” Aziraphale said sweetly. “I wasn’t planning on letting you go anywhere.”

They paused in their motions, staring at one another with gentle smiles mirroring one another. Aziraphale gazed into Crowley’s pretty yellow eyes, and suddenly felt a wave of shyness take hold of him. They were only inches apart now, but to lean in and finally kiss those lips he longed for seemed such a monumental task… What if it wasn’t perfect, what if he couldn’t convey his love through it properly, what if Crowley didn’t like it or it was too clumsy or-

As if sensing Aziraphale’s sudden uncertainty Crowley pulled him closer, leaning his head in slowly, to give him ample time to turn away. His demon was always like this, taking care of him and giving Aziraphale what he didn’t dare ask for, what he didn’t dare take for himself.

It wasn’t Heaven holding him back now, merely his own worries and hopes. Aziraphale let go of those easily, safe in his demon’s care, as he let his eyes drift shut and tilted his head up to welcome the touch.

Their first kiss since time had been invented was a shy little thing, stopping time altogether as an angel and a demon cautiously pressed together as close as they could. Crowley’s lips were as soft and plush as Aziraphale had imagined, and he sighed against his demon’s mouth.

They parted for just a moment, Crowley glancing down with flushed cheeks and a nervous look for approval. Aziraphale felt drunk on the moment. There was no hurry, no catastrophe to prevent and no being of any kind of alignment to burst in on them. Really, there was no reason to stop at just one kiss, and Aziraphale quickly dove in for the next.

This time it was Crowley who whimpered at the sensation, holding his angel close as Aziraphale dared to dart out his tongue and taste the burned sugar and fire taste of the demon’s skin. Their lips moved together, Crowley angled his face to deepen it and Aziraphale felt his toes curl in pleasure as he tried leaning up for better access. His own arms were secure around Crowley’s shoulders while the demon’s hands couldn’t hold still, roaming over Aziraphale’s back and sides as if he couldn’t quite decide where to touch first now that they could do as they pleased.

They parted less out of a need to breathe but rather out of a mutual need to just gaze at each other’s eyes. Crowley’s were fully yellow now, just as they had been that first time in the garden when they had found each other again. He looked utterly rattled and their kiss hadn’t even been the passionate overwhelming sort. At least not yet, Aziraphale did hope that they could build up to more as they got used to having each other.

After what felt like very little time Crowley gently nudged Aziraphale back towards the sofa, and pulled the giggling angel into his lap. It was nearly too much, to have so much soft adoration directed at him with Crowley’s gaze. At to think, he could have this every single day now. 

“I wonder if this wasn’t all Her Plan,” Aziraphale said, and brushed a few errand strands of hair out of Crowley’s face. “What were the odds of the two agents on earth being _us_? We lost one another but we still found each other and fell in love all over and saved the world.”

Crowley pulled a face and tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s waist. 

“That’d be a sick kind of joke. You mourning all by yourself for thousands of years believing to be alone, and me watching the love of my life suffer while not remembering me at all.”

Aziraphale quickly kissed his brow to soothe that hurt. There would be time to process those millenia, to really think about what that meant. For now he just wanted to ease Crowley’s hurt. 

“It does make me a bit of a bad angel,” he said with a grin, and at Crowley’s raised eyebrow went on. “I didn’t know what happened to you but I forgot you because you Fell. But I went ahead and clung to the memories way more than I should have. And then I went and fell in love with you all over, despite the memories, despite you being a demon. No wonder Heaven ended up kicking me out after all this.”

Crowley laughed, head thrown back. His arms snaked around Aziraphale’s body as he pulled him into a better cuddle position. 

“A naughty bastard, is what you are.”

“Don’t be insulting, my nice little sweetheart,” Aziraphale quipped, and promptly got a kiss with just the edge of sharp teeth for his trouble. Not that it was much of a punishment, mind you. 

“We’ve got eternity now,” Crowley whispered against his lips as they sank down against the sofa, lying side by side on the space that stretched just enough to accommodate him. 

“Forever,” Aziraphale promised. “As long as you’ll have me.”

Their kisses grew slower, lazier, and after a few minutes Aziraphale realized that Crowley was about to fall asleep. He shuffled down on the sofa to rest his arms on Crowley’s chest and leaned his head on them as well, close enough to feel the demon’s heartbeat and still watch his content face. It really didn’t take long for Crowley to doze off then, arms still tight around Aziraphale as if he wished to hold and protect him even in his sleep. 

Aziraphale didn’t feel like sleeping himself, but he tugged a soft blanket that hadn’t been there before over their bodies and got comfortable. He wanted very much to go on kissing Crowley, but there was no rush now, he could catch up on that tomorrow. 

They had eternity now, after all. 

* 

Epilogue 

The Bentley rushed across empty roads and past total darkness. Aziraphale couldn’t tell whether they were in a forest or whether the road cut through fields, nor did he care to find out. Crowley seemed to know where he was heading, and each time Aziraphale gazed over at his beloved he could see his lips curled ever so slightly in a content smile. That was enough for him, and he was happy to let their destination be a surprise.

Hours must have passed since Crowley held open the passenger side door for him, and then promised that he had taken care of their picnic with Aziraphale’s favourite snacks. The streetlamps of London had only just started to light up then, and the city was long behind. There hadn’t been any signs of other cars or human life for quite a bit as well. Only the road stretching a little ahead of the Bentley’s headlights.

Even in the silence of the car, filled only with a purring motor and quiet music from Crowley’s collection, Aziraphale didn’t feel the tiniest bit bored. How could he, in the present company? He wouldn’t have minded staying in the comforting darkness around them with only Crowley there with him for however long the demon might choose to drive.

Finally though they rolled to a stop, and Crowley grinned.

“Here we are.”

Aziraphale watched him climb out of the car, pick up their picnic basket from the backseat and then shuffle around the Bentley for a little while. Listening to him outside Aziraphale squirmed in anticipation, and then smiled sweetly when his door was opened and Crowley offered a hand with a gentlemanly bow.

“Hope you enjoy it, angel.”

Aziraphale stepped out and took in the scenery. They were in a landscape full of tall hills and wild fields, with not a single sign of other human shaped beings anywhere near. Crowley had parked his car right at the edge of the road, and then had set up a cosy blanket with champagne bottles and cold dishes already arranged artfully and invitingly. His hand still in Crowley’s Aziraphale glanced up and gasped, realizing why Crowley had driven so long for their perfect destination.

So far away from any human light the stars stretched above them in unmatched beauty. Together with the sickled moon they were so bright that even a human would have no trouble seeing everything around them, and Aziraphale could see them as clearly as at the start of time. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had just admired Crowley’s work like this, without light interference to dim the view.

“Oh how lovely!” he gasped out, aware that this wasn’t anywhere near adequate to describe how breathtaking the view was.

Crowley tried very hard not to show his relief, which Aziraphale politely pretended not to notice. Together they approached the blanket and Aziraphale immediately spotted several things he wished to try. Tiny pies from his favourite bakery in Manchester, and little cuts of cheese, which he knew Crowley had prepared himself, as well as fruits and cooled bottles of fine drinks.

The champagne cork was popped and Crowley handed Aziraphale an antique champagne glass. It looked as good as new, but hadn’t been miracled into existence, he could feel this. Crowley must have acquired them in perfect recently or taken very good care of them over the years.

“Are you sure this is a good spot for our first big date?” Crowley asked, still a little nervous about pleasing his angel right as he wiped a few drops from the bottle neck. Aziraphale would kiss the taste of his finger tips later.

“I mean, could be much more romantic to be up there, you know.”

He made a wide gesture at the stars; and how lovely it was that “up there” now didn’t mean Heaven anymore. They didn’t need to concern themselves with up and down like that any longer.

“Find some fields of stardust, hop over to a burning sun. Would be such a pretty view, like old times.”

Aziraphale held out his glass as Crowley poured him a generous amount of their drink. He thought about it a little, though he already knew his preference.

“No, I’m perfectly happy here, my darling,” he said slowly, swirling the champagne thoughtfully for a few moments. It reflected the stars prettily, the tiny bubbles inside looking like their own system.

“I think I would like to admire the stars the way humanity was intended too. Here, from earth and full of wonder. A perfect view to share with the love of your life on this little planet.”

Crowley smiled softly as Aziraphale clinked their glasses together for emphasis. His eyes moved up and over the stars hanging above, before turning back to Aziraphale. 

“I think you’re right about the perfect view, angel.”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched in a bashful smile and he glanced up at Crowley coyly. They drank their champagne and Crowley pretended not to await Aziraphale’s opinion on their meal eagerly. They were slow and comfortable as they talked about nothing, a demon feeding an angel the tastiest morsels of food, and the night stretched all around them endlessly. 

There was not one being around them, nothing close enough to disturb their rendezvous. It was just as it had been before, once upon a not quite time. There was no Heaven or Hell at each other’s throats to worry about, no creatures to require their attention. There were stars and the kind of darkness that welcomes and comforts, makes things all the more intimate. Perhaps time did exist now, but it trickled by slowly and the morning would come just at the precise moment they wished to retreat to the Bentley. 

Nothing existed but the stars and the endless fields around them. There was no Heaven nor Hell, and technically neither of the two celestial beings could be counted among angels. It wasn’t anything like it had once been, and yet it was just the same in all the ways that mattered. 

Aziraphale tasted the food and felt Crowley’s warmth against him where they leaned together. He couldn’t help but shiver with pleasure and immediately the softest tartan throw blanket was pulled from the air and placed around his shoulders. The night wasn’t even cold to him, but the burst of love in his chest would have sustained him in the deepest arctic night. He didn’t need to look with his slightly to the side vision on reality to feel the responding glow of Crowley’s love. 

Above the stars shone upon a firmament that was as familiar to the two beings as each other’s eyes. And below, in a beautiful little corner of the earth two celestial creatures shone with love and affection for one another, so bright and so close, that one would have to squint lest they think they one single shimmering star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at an end. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kind comments! I'm really blown away by how well received this fic was, and how invested you were as the story progressed. I can't thank you enough, honestly. I hope you found the conclusion as enjoyable as the rest of the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who's reading and commenting, it really means a lot to me!!!
> 
> And if anyone's curious, I've been drawing stuff for each chapter, which you can find here: 
> 
> asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/tagged/fractured-heart


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